Catch and Keep
by HolyheadHarpy7
Summary: Oliver loves Quidditch and this year is his final chance to win the Cup. But what happens when he starts to realise, much to his horror, that he is beginning to love something, or rather someone, more than his favourite sport?
1. Chapter 1: Quidditch Practice

Alicia's light sandy hair was spread over her pillow as she slept in her four-poster bed. Her mouth was slightly agape and her pale skin glowed in the early sunlight that streamed through the dormitory window. Oliver thought she looked quite peaceful. She was the only one he felt a twinge of regret for having to do this to. He placed his hands on her shoulders and roughly shook her awake.

"Spinnet!"

Alicia's hazel eyes snapped open in alarm as she looked up at her Quidditch Captain – fully dressed in his Gryffindor robes.

"Whatshappening? Wood? What in the name of _Merlin_ are you doing?" she squealed, quite shocked to find a boy in the girl's dormitory.

"Quidditch practice," replied Oliver simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If we want the Cup, then we have _got_ to train. Come on, the rest of the team is up!"

Spinnet groaned and her eyes squinted in protest while attempting to adjust to the light. She looked over to her left and found Angelina sprawled unconscious on her bed, it appeared as though she had been in the process of putting a boot on. It was then that Spinnet noticed the time.

"Wood! It's 4:30 in the morning!"

Johnson grumbled from her position on the bed, "I am going to kill you, Wood. I really am. When _you _are sleeping, I am going to come into _your _dormitory and I'm going to get a pillow and I'm going to – " but Johnson had dozed off again.

"How on earth did you get up the stairs?" Spinnet asked.

"I flew, of course," Oliver replied, patting his shouldered Comet Two-Sixty.

"Gosh, Wood. You're obsession knows no bounds does it?" Alicia commented as she reluctantly rose from her bed and reached blindly for her robes.

Oliver smiled, and a mad glint shimmered in his eyes, "Down at the Quidditch pitch in 20 minutes."

Oliver mounted his broom and left the dormitory, hovering down the staircase. He could feel it. This year was it. This year the Quidditch Cup was his. He had been denied what was rightfully his for too long, but it was time for him to grasp the cool metal of the Cup's handle. With the rest of the team awake, he left the Gryffindor Common Room and headed down to the pitch – a fierce determination dominating his stride.

His insides still boiled and eyes watered at the memory of the past two Quidditch losses – his champion Seeker unconscious in the hospital wing resulting in a humiliating defeat to Slytherin and the year after that when Quidditch had been cancelled because of a mythical monster. It was not that Oliver had not tried to do everything in his power to secure a win and make others see reason. It wasn't as if he hadn't implored Madam Pomfrey to give Harry a Reviving Remedy to wake him up – "It's what Potter would want!" he'd told her. And it wasn't as if he hadn't argued with Professor McGonagall until he was hoarse and received several months of detentions. No. No one else understood Quidditch like he did. No one else shared his passion or enthusiasm for the most incredible game in the world.

As he entered the change rooms and strolled out onto the pitch, the fresh morning breeze stung his face; but the brisk breeze carried something in the air – the sweet taste of victory. Oliver closed his eyes and savored the sensation. He could already picture it now: the stadium a flood of red and gold as the stands erupted into cheers to celebrate their House's win; the Weasley twins slapping everyone on the back; Potter still clutching the fluttering Snitch; and the girl's hugging their teammates; and Spinnet's smiling face particularly vivid among the mass of people. Oliver's heart swelled at this image and let out a cry of surprise when a call brought him back to the present.

"Oi, Wood! You going to stay out there staring up at the Quidditch gods or you going to bore us back to sleep with your strategies?" yelled one of the twins, his head sticking out of the change rooms.

As Oliver hurried back inside and took his place in front of the team, who looked exhausted and bleary eyed, he retorted, "I don't like that attitude, Weasley. We've got to be ready to give this tournament everything – I want you to eat, sleep, breathe, _be_ Quidditch this year. This is our year, our victory! We should have had the Cup before," he gulped painfully and attempted to suppress the horrible memories. "But we are going to _win _this year and we are going to train like never before! Now, over the break I have devised a completely new regime that is going to ensure our success."

Oliver turned towards the board where he had previously set up his diagrams the night before. He pulled out his wand and tapped the first one, and seven figures began moving across a Quidditch pitch.

"I've analysed our tactics from last year and I think we're lacking in our technical maneuvers. Potter – you need to learn the Slothgrip Roll. It's tricky; but we need to aim high and since you're the primary target for Beaters this is perfect for you. If you look at this diagram…"

Oliver quickly lost himself in the speech and his obsession with Quidditch overtook him; it was blissful discussing his favourite sport and he could focus on nothing else. If he had been paying attention, he might have noticed that half his team had already drifted back to sleep.

It was an hour later when Oliver startled the team from their daze and ordered them out onto the pitch to practice the new training regime. They kicked off the ground and soared into the air – it was liberating, streaking across the pitch. Oliver ran his team through some warm-up drills with the Quaffle; then he let the Bludgers and Snitch out and got the Weasleys and Potter to practice their new techniques, while he and the Chasers ran through the Porskoff Ploy.

"Tuck your legs up, Johnson! Bell, you need to be quicker in getting underneath her if we're going to beat Slytherin! Timing is the essence!" Oliver shouted.

Johnson covertly dropped the Quaffle to Bell, hovering below her, and tossed it to Spinnet who was out of Oliver's sight and scored a goal.

"Excellent, Spinnet! Good work, girls!"

Oliver turned his attention to the rest of the team. The twins were doing a superb job of the Bludger Backbeat – which involved hitting the Buldger from behind to surprise the opposition – and Potter had caught the Snitch at least five times from what Oliver had seen.

The sun was up now and some of the school was coming down to the pitch to watch the practice as it was a Saturday morning. Conscious of Slytherin spies, Oliver called the team back down to the ground to congratulate them on a great start to the year. He also informed them, with a brilliant and albeit mad smile, that these Saturday morning sessions would be permanent. Oliver was too flushed with excitement to notice Fred Weasley pretend to strangle him from behind.

As the group slowly started packing up and making their way up to castle, even more tired now after training, Oliver hung back to continue working on the training regime. It took a while for him to notice that one of his teammates was lingering.

"Er, Wood?" Spinnet said.

Oliver turned around and saw Spinnet leaning against the doorway; her face flushed with strands of hair escaping her ponytail, "Good effort today, Spinnet."

"Thanks," she replied, "Actually, I wanted to let you know that the rest of the Gryffindor fifth, sixth and seventh-years are planning on having a study session after lunch today in the library. You know, with OWLs and NEWTs and all this year."

"Oh. Right." Oliver ran a hand through his short, dark hair. What with Quidditch and his new regime, Oliver hadn't really been focusing on his schoolwork lately. He knew he should but all too often did he find his attention drifting out to the pitch and scribbling diagrams when he should have been taking notes. Many times had he been snapped out of his thoughts by McGonagall's stern face and blazing eyes.

"I thought I would have heard about this earlier?" he asked.

"Yeah, well – you're pretty busy with Quidditch and all," Spinnet smirked. "Anyway, will you come?"

"I think I better – don't want to get a Howler from my mother…"

"Great," she beamed and then turned on her heel to go back up to the castle.

Oliver watched Spinnet walk away. He supposed he could spare a few hours from Quidditch to do some schoolwork and spend some time with his fellow seventh-years. He hadn't really talked to Alfie or Russel in few weeks. Yes, he thought as Spinnet disappeared into the castle, it would be worthwhile to study and catch-up with his friends.

**xxx**

It wasn't long before Oliver found himself in the library, sitting at a large table of studying students. The table was covered with thick textbooks; many opened to reveal minuscule writing, complex illustrations and odd Arthimancy symbols. Oliver was working on Snape's essay with Russel and another seventh-year, Matthew Smith.

"One foot long!" exclaimed a frustrated Russel. "This is ridiculous! The git! How am I supposed to know which people Veritaserum works better on?"

"The answer's got to be in here somewhere," murmured Matthew as he bent over a very ancient potion book from the restricted section.

Oliver had progressed little on Snape's nasty essay. Admittedly, he'd only been studying for an hour but he wanted more than anything to be organising his next training session.

"Ha! Here it is – Veritaserum 'works best upon the unsuspecting, the vulnerable and those insufficiently skilled to protect themselves against it.'" Matthew explained.

Quills started scratching as they scribbled down the answer.

"Right," said Oliver. "That'll do for today."

"What do you mean, Wood?" Spinnet replied who was sitting nearby – struggling with an Ancient Rune translation and staring at Oliver as though he was mental. Guessing what Oliver was thinking, she said, "Quidditch can wait."

Oliver let out a frustrated sigh and reluctantly pulled his Herbology towards him, dipped his quill in his ink point and started to write.

The group had just finished their History of Magic homework when their brains declared defeat and would work no more. Together, they wandered down to the Great Hall for dinner. The bewitched ceiling reflected a clear night sky as the stars twinkled above the chattering crowds. Oliver filled his plate with shepherd's pie as his mouth watered with hunger. He was shoveling down his third helping when Russel and Alfie started a conversation about the World Cup that was to take place early next year.

"No way – Wales hasn't got a shot of qualifying for the quarter finals, let alone the final! Since Mulgrove left, the team's fallen apart," Russel banged his lanky arm against the table as if to say that settled the matter.

"But they've got _the _best Beaters!" argued Alfie, some shepherd pie flying from his mouth.

"It's going to be Ireland – no doubt about that; they're in top form. I reckon America and Bulgaria have a shot too," Wood joined in, his dark eyes alight with enthusiasm.

The boys continued to bicker, until Matthew interjected with an exasperated sigh, "Are you still talking about Quidditch? Honestly, don't you have anything else to talk about?"

They started at Matthew blankly. The truth was, Oliver and his best mates (perhaps not to the same degree as Oliver) loved Quidditch and, really, it was the basis of their friendship.

"Like the fact that there's a mass murderer on the loose?" he added.

When the boys would still not say anything and gawked at Matthew as if he had suggested that they hug a Sphinx, he rolled his eyes and returned to his conversation with Spinnet and Johnson.

"Always thought he was weird," muttered Russell in an undertone.

Oliver nodded in assent. There was nothing more important than Quidditch, he thought while watching Spinnet laugh at a joke told by the Weasley twins; her hair shinning gold in the light cast by the floating candles.

* * *

**A/N: Hey! Hope you guys liked the first chapter! This is my first fanfic and I am very excited. I absolutely love this couple - to me they just make sense. I decided to write about them as there are not a lot of fanfics out there about them and, if any, they are mostly one-shots so I wanted to explore their relationship :) Anyway, hope you enjoyed this :D Pretty please review xx**


	2. Chapter 2: Hexes and Injuries

With the first match of the season – Gryffindor versus Slytherin – approaching rapidly just as the dismal October weather set in, Oliver's team was flying brilliantly and were determined to win more than ever. Oliver didn't know how he was able to manage his NEWTs while organising Quidditch training.

Everything was going to plan until he overheard Catherine Crowne – a Gryffindor fifth year – chatting to a blonde Ravenclaw girl as he left an exhausting Transfiguration lesson and joined the crowds hustling towards the Great Hall for dinner.

"I know, it was awful of Flint to do that to Alicia; especially with the first match so near! But Madam Pomfrey should be able to fix her up in no time."

Oliver's blood ran cold and he stopped dead in his tracks, causing several students to clamber into him from behind.

"What?" he stammered and the two girls turned around. "Are you talking about Spinnet?"

Catherine shot an anxious glance at her friend before replying, "You mean, Alicia? Didn't you hear?"

"No! No, I didn't hear!" Oliver yelled, his worry increasing with every second.

"She got hurt in Care of Magical Creatures. Marcus Flint –"

But Oliver had heard enough to confirm his growing dread.

"WHAT?" he bellowed; several people in the corridor looked around. "AND NOBODY TOLD _ME_!"

Catherine's blue eyes were wide with shock at Oliver's outburst, "But Wood – "

"I'M QUIDDITCH CAPTAIN!" Oliver continued to roar as he pelted down the corridor and ruthlessly pushed students aside; knocking Collin Creevey off his feet.

Honestly, he should have been notified of Spinnet's injury immediately. This could cost him the Cup! He could have to replace a Chaser. But with whom? No other three Chasers were more in sync and talented as Spinnet, Bell and Johnson – together they were unstoppable. No one else in Gryffindor was up to the same standard as Spinnet. All his time spent on his training regime would be wasted. The vision of winning the Cup was melting away and now appeared as hopeless as trying to catch wisps of air. By the time Oliver pushed open the doors of the hospital wing, his ears were pounding and his face was etched in despair.

"Spinnet?" he shouted.

There were curtains drawn around a bed in the far right corner. Oliver's stomach lurched in fear and he suddenly regretted having a second serving of steak and kidney pie for lunch. Before Oliver could take another step closer to the bed, however, Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office with a goblet and potion bottle filled with a dark navy concoction. At the sight of Oliver, she scowled and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"I suppose I should have expected you to come," she said sternly, "but I really must insist that you leave. Miss Spinnet is in no state for any visitors."

"But," spluttered Oliver, "I'm Quidditch Captain! I need to see her!"

And without further ado, he raced past the matron and pulled back the curtains. Oliver was not prepared for what he saw next.

Spinnet lifted her head up at the sound of Oliver, but she could not see him for her eyebrows had been cursed to grow beyond her knees. Oliver gasped in surprise.

"Here you go, dear," said Madam Pomfrey, pouring the potion into the goblet and handing it to Spinnet to drink. She sipped it tentatively but the moment she swallowed it, her eyebrows begun to recede until they were back to their normal length. When she saw her visitor, she blushed deeply and averted her gaze.

"Oh. Wood. It was Flint – he hexed me from behind when I was leaving class," she explained.

Oliver continued to stare at her, until he let out a sudden cry of relief and captured Spinnet in a suffocating hug. Spinnet appeared quite alarmed and patted Oliver gently on the back, "It's OK, Wood. I'm fine,"

Oliver recovered himself and released Spinnet with an awkward cough.

"Er, right," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Brilliant – I was worried for a second there."

Spinnet rolled her eyes and thanked Madam Pomfrey.

"Of course, dear," she said, "You're free to go, but if you think your eyebrows grow even the slightest over the next week, be sure to see me. Though I highly doubt it – it was a poorly cast hex."

Then she whisked away back into her office. Spinnet gathered her belongings and left the ward with Oliver.

"I better put my stuff back in my dormitory – it's time for dinner," Spinnet said as she checked her watch.

"I'll come with you."

They made their way to Gryffindor Tower and began chatting about, well, Quidditch.

"Thinking of going professional?" inquired Oliver.

"Definitely. I've heard you're trying out for the Puddlemere United reserve team."

Oliver's face lit up, "Yeah, they're going to be held at the end of the year."

"I'm sure you'll get in," Spinnet said confidently. "You're an incredible Keeper." Something about Spinnet's remark made Oliver's stomach somersault.

"So, why United?" she continued.

"Bit of a family thing – we've always supported them."

"Ah, see, I've always been an Appleby Arrows fan."

"Really? They've got a shocking Captain…"

"There's nothing wrong with Roy!" Spinnet retorted, giving Oliver a playful push. "Just because of the incident at the 1989 match."

"Oh, sure," Oliver smirked. "It's a miracle he can even get on his broom the right way. How he made it professionally is beyond me…"

Spinnet giggled – a sound that reminded Oliver of tinkling chimes and raised goosebumps on his skin.

"Family tradition to support Appleby?"

"Oh, no," Spinnet said. "My parents are Muggles – well, they're my guardians."

"You mean, you're…" Oliver trailed off, surprised.

"Adopted? Yes."

"Oh. I never knew that…" How could Oliver not know that about Spinnet? He'd known her for almost five years. Now, he came to think about it, he barely knew anything about her – except that she was an excellent Chaser, intelligent, brave, sweet, pretty…He shook his head. Oliver was perturbed by his lack of knowledge of someone he considered a friend and abruptly realised how consumed he was with Quidditch. He glanced at Spinnet, who appeared quite offended.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," he said hurriedly, "I mean, it would have been funny for them to find out you were a witch."

A mischievous smile slowly spread across Spinnet's face, "They always wondered how I managed to find more Easter Eggs than they'd hidden."

Oliver laughed. Then he started to tell Spinnet about his early signs of magic that involved a watering can and a very angry, very wet neighbour. Together they reached the portrait hole and climbed through and it was then that Oliver realised vaguely that he'd talked to one of his teammates about something else other than Quidditch. He'd enjoyed it far more than he could have imagined.

Once he and Spinnet left the common room, still conversing animatedly, they ran into Professor McGonagall – her lips were dangerously thin and she looked extremely agitated.

"Wood, I have some news about the upcoming Quidditch match," she said tensely.

He paled. Could the match be cancelled _again_ like last year?

"What? It's still on, isn't it?" he said hastily.

"Yes, of course. But there's been a change of plans. Due to the Slytherin Seeker's injury," she paused as if to suggest that she thought this was ridiculous, "you will not be playing Slytherin. The first match will be Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff."

Oliver's mind went blank and his world, his life, crashed and burned.

* * *

**A/N: So, here is the second chapter :D Thank you so much for all those who have reviewed - I love you all sooooo much :D I hope you enjoy this chapter! I have started work on Chapter 3 - but my lucky duck of a Beta is heading to the coast for a couple of days so I'll have to wait for her to return before I can update :) Anyway, please read and review my dears xx**


	3. Chapter 3: The Defeat

**The Defeat**

Oliver announced the devastating news to his team at that night's Quidditch session. Their months of training had been structured with the purpose of beating Slytherin – but Hufflepuff was a whole other team. Slytherin were strongest in attack and had ruthless Beaters, while Hufflepuff were known for their superb defensive strategies and, worst of all, they had a new Captain – Seeker, Cedric Diggory. If they had played Hufflepuff when they were meant to, Oliver would have been able to observe them fly against Ravenclaw. Now, he was facing the unexpected and uncertain with one training session left before the match. His entire team would be thrown off their form. The evening became progressively distressing, especially at his teammates' response – they were calmly indifferent. Well, that was how Oliver interpreted their reaction. Further aggravating his annoyance, the girls giggled at the mention of Diggory.

"I was afraid you'd take it like this! We mustn't relax! We must keep our focus! Slytherin is trying to wrong-foot us! We must win!"

"Oliver, calm down!" said one of the twins, looking slightly alarmed. "We're taking Hufflepuff very seriously. Seriously."

**xxx**

Was he dead, yet? Surely, he had drowned. Life was no longer worth living with the fresh and raw defeat to Hufflepuff. Over and over, he saw the match replay in his mind. Potter gaining on Diggory and the Snitch…the mass of hooded Dementors…his Seeker plummeting to the ground just as the whistle blew to signal the end of the game and the end of his life. To make matters worse, the Whomping Willow had destroyed Potter's Nimbus Two Thousand – it was _the_ ultimate racing broom – and it had been splintered into pieces. He now felt as though he had his own Dementor stalking him, for a feeling of heavy despair seemed to have permanently settled in the pit of his stomach. He sincerely believed that he would never be able to experience joy again.

He had lost.

Oliver was slumped against the shower wall of the change room, still fully dressed in his Quidditch gear. He had turned the shower on full force to a piercing cold temperature and his robes were soaked. How long he had been in there was beyond him, but the stands above were now quiet and empty, and he had no inclination to leave anytime soon. Nothing was worth living for anymore. The world had ended.

As Oliver lay defeated, he heard someone enter the change room and call his name. It was a sweet voice that was like sunshine penetrating the grim atmosphere hanging over Oliver. Slowly, he lifted his head from his hands and blinked through the veil of falling water.

It was Spinnet.

She too was still dressed in her Quidditch robes, which were slightly damp and muddy from the match, and her sandy hair was drying in wayward curls. When her eyes absorbed the scene of her despairing Captain, they filled with pity.

"Oh, Oliver," she sighed.

Oliver wasn't sure what surprised him most – Spinnet's presence or her use of his first name. Spinnet walked into the shower, her boots splashing around in the water from the overflowing drains, and turned the tap off. She then settled herself down next to Oliver and the couple sat in silence for several minutes.

Oliver was grateful for the company; sharing his gloomy and grim mood with another was somewhat comforting. Soon, Spinnet broke the silence,

"I'm sorry," she whispered in a barely audible voice, "I know how much this meant to you."

Oliver could not reply; he merely nodded and made a strangled noise. Then Spinnet did something else that astonished Oliver even more, she took hold of his hand. From where Spinnet had touched him, Oliver felt warmth spread up his arm like electric shocks. He experienced a swooping sensation in his stomach. But it didn't last long. Spinnet gave his hand a quick squeeze then pulled her arm back. It left Oliver feeling oddly empty.

Again, they returned back to silence until Spinnet spoke once more.

"Harry's awake," she said; and when Oliver's face remained impassive, added, "Madam Pomfrey says he'll be fine."

At her words, all of Oliver's hopelessness and misery surged to his lips in the form of rage.

"What good is that?" he blurted, "We lost! _I _lost! The Cup…the Cup is gone…"

There was a pause before Spinnet replied.

"Oliver Wood," Spinnet said angrily; and from her tone Oliver instantly regretted his outburst.

Oliver reluctantly turned his head and met Spinnet's eyes for the first time since she had entered the room. Her eyes were now narrowed into slits and her face was contorted with indignation.

"How dare you?" she whispered vehemently. "Harry – your Seeker, your _friend_ – just fell from his broomstick fifty feet in the air into a hoard of Dementors, miraculously survived and all you care about is the Cup!" she leapt to her feet in disgust, "You're pathetic! Harry almost died for you and the stupid Cup!"

Spinnet began to pace in front of Oliver as he gapped blankly at her, until she rounded on him again.

"I'll tell you what you're going to do. You _are_ going up to the hospital wing once you've wiped off that depressing stupor off your face and you _are_ going to tell Harry that in no way was any of this his fault."

She stepped out of the showers, grabbed a freshly laundered towel from a nearby pile and hurled it at Oliver before storming away.

For a while Oliver did not move until he reached his hand upwards, turned the shower knob and the familiar, icy water penetrated his skin. If possible, he felt even worse than he had earlier.

**xxx**

Oliver eventually went to visit Potter in the hospital wing the following day. He still felt incredibly depressed over his loss and could not understand why no one else was mourning with him. Most of the team were avoiding him, either because they were scared Oliver would have a nervous breakdown in front of them or were angry at his reaction – namely, Spinnet.

Several days later, Oliver had completed the initial stages of grief in reaction to losing and progressed into the next phase: perseverance, or what the Weasley twins referred to as lunacy. After brooding over Gryffindor's loss and wallowing in his defeat, and isolating himself in a corner of the common room every night while muttering to himself and poking his Quidditch diagrams with his wand, Oliver had conjured a solution – he had decided that a once a week early practice was simply not enough.

The twins had been snoring loudly in their beds until Oliver woke them. His eyes had a maniac glint and the Weasleys were sure he had developed a twitch over the past days.

"What?" Fred said groggily as he started to stir. When he caught sight of Oliver he sighed and began to roll over, saying, "We've been over this – it's not that I don't find you attractive, but I just don't think _this,_" he gestured limply between Oliver and himself, "is going to work. Now, if you don't mind…" But Oliver pulled back Fred's sheets, causing him to groan in displeasure.

George, in the next bed, had also roused but, in attempting to get out of bed, had stumbled and become tangled in his hangings.

"Merlin! Wood – we're trying to sleep!"

Lee Jordan had poked his head out at the commotion – disturbed from his rest.

Ignoring this, Oliver said, "Come on, Weasleys! Out on the pitch!"

Oliver waited until he saw the Weasleys begin to clamber for their robes before turning to leave. However, a voice stopped him when he was halfway to the door.

"Hold on, Wood…" George said as he gradually straightened up from attaining a sock from under his bed; comprehension dawning on his face. "Is it just me or is this déjà vu?"

"No…I think you're right, George," replied Fred, catching on, "Wasn't Saturday training yesterday?"

"Yes," said Oliver bluntly, "I've added a Sunday morning session."

The twins stopped dead and stared at Oliver in disbelief until Fred said, in a deathly calm voice, "It's Sunday?"

When Oliver nodded to confirm this, the twins leaped up from their positions in sync and grabbed Oliver on either side under his shoulders – dragging him out of their dormitory. Oliver may have been taller and broader than the stocky twins, but he was slowly beginning to realise that he should not have come between them and their Sunday sleep in.

Oliver struggled against the twins, but his arms were pinned down against his sides.

"OI! Let me go!" he shouted, his face turning as red as the Weasleys' flaming hair.

They ignored Oliver's protests and took him down the stairs, across the common room, through the portrait hole until they reached a broom cupboard. Here, Fred retrieved Oliver's wand from his pocket, pushed him inside and magically locked the door; before Oliver had a chance to scramble to his feet. Now, Oliver was plunged in complete darkness and he pounded his fists on the door.

"What are you doing?" he bellowed, "Let me out!"

"No. I don't think we will," one of the twins said evenly – George, Oliver thought.

"Think of it as a sort of service, Wood," added Fred.

"It has come to our attention recently – "

" – around five minutes ago – "

" – that you need serious help."

"Ever since the match, you've gone round the bend – "

" – lost your marbles – "

" – cracked – "

" – you're dragon dung crazy."

"Anyway, the point is you're taking Gryffindor's loss far too seriously."

"You need to relax, Oliver."

"We lost the match, not the Cup."

Oliver fumed with frustration, "Let me out, Weasleys! I swear I'll…"

"What? Kick us off the team?" exclaimed Fred incredulously. "Yeah sure…we're only the best Beaters in Gryffindor."

"We're doing this for your own good," George concluded.

Then Oliver heard footsteps retreating and he began banging harder and calling at the top of his voice, "Weasleys!"

But no one came back and the castle remained deaf to Oliver's cries.

It was fifteen minutes before Oliver's doubt set in, gave up yelling and kicked a bucket in anger. However, if anything, this only enraged him further as his toe was now throbbing painfully.

He was wasting time in here. Why could no one see that they had to train more frequently and harder? Why was he the only one being logical? His entire team didn't share his view and it drove him insane. Spinnet, the twins – they couldn't be right…could they? So what if he had a vigorous passion for Quidditch? There was nothing wrong with having a hobby. Clearly, there was something wrong with everybody else. Sure – maybe he got a little overenthusiastic sometimes and maybe that did drive people away…like Spinnet. Oliver settled miserably on a bucket and ran a hand through his hair; dishevelling it. Maybe he did need to sort out his priorities…

Filch received a horrible fright when, in the early hours of the morning, he was searching for Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover and, instead, discovered a student residing in his broom cupboard. His pouchy face contorted into rage and its colour passed dangerously from its usual red into a putrid purple; clutching his chest and spluttering in anger about students pulling pranks and plotting his death. Oliver ignored his howls and threats of detention, getting to his feet glumly. His time in the closet had made him depressingly aware of how his quest for the Cup had made him incredibly lonely.

He meandered slowly back to Gryffindor tower after dodging Filch and stopped to gaze out of a window. The frozen lake was just visible in Oliver's view and a golden sun was gradually rising along the horizon; its rays attempting to burst through the snowy clouds. Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw a matted, orange cat streak into the Forbidden Forest. The defeat wasn't the only thing bothering him lately.

Admittedly, there was still a chance to win the Quidditch Tournament; hope was not lost. What made him drown further in his desolation, was Spinnet's outburst. No one had ever confronted Oliver so bluntly about his obsession with Quidditch and no one, not a single soul, had referred to Quidditch as 'stupid' in his presence. But Oliver had detected disappointment in her voice and his insides squirmed at the thought. Why was he upset by Spinnet's reaction? Why should Oliver care about what she thought of him? Storm clouds were beginning to converge as Oliver stared out at the grounds. There was so much Oliver did not understand about people, they weren't as straightforward and as easy to comprehend as Quidditch. Eventually, Oliver left his post and trudged along the corridors; thunder clapping outside.

* * *

**A/N: Hi everybody! Sorry I have taken a while to update, but my awesome Beta has now returned from soaking up the sun and has edited my fanfic. Also been reading The Casual Vacancy, which I didn't like at first but I am now really getting into it :) I recommend you read it, if you haven't already :) Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and Chapter 4 is well in the works :) **

**Also a thank you to DZAuthor AKA DZMom who gave me the idea of the twins locking Oliver away :) And also to JK Rowling, as I copied an excerpt from Book 3 from the Quidditch session. **

**Thanks to all my reviewers, favourites and followers! Reviews are much appreciated xx**


	4. Chapter 4: Hogsmeade Disasters

**Hogsmeade Disasters**

Since the Sunday morning incident, Oliver had decided to leave his training practices to the schedule he had planned over the summer holidays. The team was grateful for this, as they had, no doubt, heard from the twins about Oliver's attempt to alter this. A silent reverence for the Weasleys could be detected from the other teammates at their training sessions. With Potter now fully recovered, Oliver encouraged him to purchase a new broom from his magazine subscription, _Which Broomstick, _as the school brooms were odiously pitiable. Nevertheless, the thought that Dementors could turn up again at the next match, if the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw game went in their favour, constantly nagged Oliver. The last thing he wanted to do was to replace the best Seeker in Hogwarts. For now, though, he pushed this unpleasant thought from his mind.

It was easy to do this too, as his homework pile was threatening to reach a record height and the pressure of NEWTs was beginning to loom over the seventh years. Many students were showing signs of strain and stress: Percy Weasley bellowed at a group of first years for laughing in the common room; Wilfred Jefferies in Hufflepuff suffered a breakdown in the middle of Charms and had to be cautiously taken to the hospital wing for a Calming Concoction and a day of bed rest; and even Marcus Flint had been seen by several witnesses to enter the library for the first time during his magical education (there were rumours flying around that he was going to fail his NEWTs). The study sessions in the library proved to be highly beneficial, despite how exhausted Oliver was after them. It was almost as tiring as a two hour Quidditch session.

Therefore, it was a relief that the second Hogsmeade weekend trip for the year had arrived. Oliver wanted nothing more than to escape the castle and its grounds for a refreshing break; to visit Honeydukes and drool over the delicious assortment of sweets, explore Zonko's new gadgets with Alfie and Russel, savour a Butterbeer next to the roaring fire of the Three Broomsticks and goggle at the Firebolt on display at Spintwitches. His entire year was rapt with anticipation for this trip and everyone was discussing their plans heartily with their friends with a dawning realisation that this was to be among their last trips to Hogsmeade. Nothing could destroy Oliver's joy ignited by this prospect, until after Quidditch training on the eve of the trip.

The team was performing well, though half-heartedly due to their doubt of making the finals, and were packing up before heading back to the castle. Potter and the twins had already left for the castle, while Oliver organised his diagrams and the three Chasers chatted; leisurely gathering their belongings. Their Captain listened absently, with his back turned away from them.

"I've heard Penelope's had a row with Percy – doesn't want to go with him to Hogsmeade," commented Bell.

"Oh, please! Where did you hear that? Danny Smith?" snorted Johnson, "I saw the two of them snogging in a concealed corridor today."

"Like you can talk Angie. Everyone heard about the incident with you and Terry Boot on the Astronomy Tower," Spinnet chided.

Johnson sounded unabashed when she replied in a smug tone, "Well, a little birdie told me you have a date for tomorrow's trip."

Oliver dropped the stack of Quidditch equipment he had been taking over to the storeroom at this declaration; a helmet falling agonisingly on his foot and causing a large racket. He swore openly. But the girls' conversation continued as though nothing had happened.

"Oh!" squealed Bell, "Why didn't you tell me? Who's your date?"

While Oliver was on the floor collecting the equipment, he subtly turned his head. Even Oliver could feel the heat from Spinnet blushing.

"Um, Cedric Diggory."

Oliver felt as though he had been doused in freezing water; his heart clenched and his insides froze. He leapt up and whipped around – forgetting that he was not actually a part of the conversation, let alone meant to be listening. How could Spinnet be going out with Cedric Diggory – Captain of Hufflepuff's Quidditch team – who had just beaten Gryffindor.

"W-What?" he stammered; shock and disbelief plastered over his face.

The three girls grouped around the dressers now stared at Oliver, as though they had just realised he was there. If possible, Spinnet blushed more deeply.

"I'm going to Hogsmeade with Cedric. Didn't you know?"

"No…" replied Oliver still numb with this revelation; continuing to gape unashamedly at Spinnet.

Johnson wore a satisfied smirk on her face that Oliver wished she would wipe off.

"What's wrong, Wood? You're not jealous, are you?" she added, teasingly.

"No," said Oliver, with such force that he surprised himself and Spinnet flinched, "It's just…this is the first I've heard of it…" then after a brief, awkward pause he turned his back and returned to gathering the Quidditch equipment off the floor.

Oliver could hear Bell and Johnson trying but failing to conceal their giggles. Spinnet shushed them and whispered that she wanted a word with Wood. The two left with knowing smiles. Spinnet kicked her boot against the ground and opened her mouth to speak, but Oliver beat her to it,

"You know, I don't think you should go. With Diggory. To Hogsmeade," he said, matter-of-factly.

Oliver strode over to the storeroom and shoved the equipment inside, closed the door and then faced Spinnet. She was clearly offended, but suddenly her expression transformed to anger. Suddenly, Oliver remembered their last private conversation and became nervous.

"Why?" It was all she could manage to splutter.

The two were positioned at opposite ends of the change rooms. Oliver crossed his arms and leaned against the wall; considering his next sentence carefully.

"I just think that it will distract you from Quidditch training," he said confidently.

Oliver wasn't sure why he was saying this. Or why he was so aggravated by this news. Perhaps it was because he felt he needed to protect his teammates. He was Captain after all…

"Distract me from Quidditch?" she echoed in outrage, "The others date! Angelina, Fred, George…I don't hear you prohibiting them from having boyfriends and girlfriends! Where is this coming from?"

"None of them are dating right now. And it's crucial that we focus all our energy on our training for the next match. And…and you've got your OWLs. "

"Don't be ridiculous, Wood! This isn't about training _or_ my OWLs!" she interceded; her face now red.

"What? Of course, it is! Besides, don't you know who Diggory is?" Oliver replied, though he paled slightly.

"Of course, I know who he is!" she snapped.

"He just beat us at Quidditch! How could you do this to the team? To Gryffindor?"

Oliver was well aware that he was being completely unreasonable, that in no way was Spinnet doing anything wrong. But this had sparked something inside of him, a monster.

Now, that he had started this, it was so easy to continue in his aggravation, "He's the enemy…and you're…you're…"

"I'm what?" Spinnet shrieked, verging on tears.

"Fraternising with the enemy! You've betrayed us!" Oliver shouted.

Tears were streaming down Spinnet's face, clearly stung by Oliver's words – which he could not believe he had uttered.

"How could you say that?" Spinnet said, her rage, indignation and hurt ringing in her voice. Oliver thought she looked ready to throw something at him. "This has nothing to do with Quidditch. And the sooner you figure that out, the better it will be. But I'm going with the one who asked."

Spinnet left Oliver in fury, who was now feeling more confused and angry than he had ever felt in his life.

**xxx**

Oliver prowled down Hogsmeade's High Street in a disgruntled manner. It was bitterly cold, despite the multiple layers of coats, jumpers and socks Oliver was dressed in. Yet, his unshielded face was red from the weather and his dark hair was covered in snow.

The main street of the village was nothing but a white blur with students scurrying quickly from shop to shop to find warmth. They were like moths to a flame. Yet, Oliver was no longer in a mood to enjoy the trip – he remained furious about what had unfolded between himself and Spinnet the previous night and what she had implied. He had no idea what had provoked himself or her to say those things. He couldn't possibly…could he? He shook his head and angrily kicked the ground; snow flying in the air. Besides, what did it matter? Spinnet was at Hogsmeade with Diggory…

Last night Oliver had skipped dinner and marched straight to his dormitory for bed after Quidditch. On the way, he had encountered Russel and Alfie heading towards the Great Hall. When his friends had paused to greet him, he barked at them to leave him alone and continued on his rampage. Unsurprisingly, he had slept poorly that night; tossing violently in his bed and trying to suppress images of himself taking Spinnet to Hogsmeade…visiting the shops…laughing together as a strand of her smooth hair escaped from beneath her beanie…snuggling closer together on a bench in The Three Broomsticks…

He rose earl; continuing to avoid his friends and all other forms of social contact.

What was happening to him? He had always been consumed with thoughts of Quidditch but now someone else was making frequent appearances.

All of his plans to visit his favourite shops had dissipated. Not even the thatched cottages and idyllic views of Hogsmeade could cheer him from his gloom. He kept his head down against the howling wind and his gloved hands stuffed inside his cloak's pockets.

While he prowled along the streets, he came across Madam Puddifoot's. He had always hated the shop – it was repulsively pink and a sickly sight. But when Oliver peered into its window, his heart chilled and he stopped in his tracks. Spinnet and Diggory were in Madam Puddifoot's on their date, sipping hot cocoa.

Oliver edged closer to the shop's window so he could have a clearer view through the thick sheet of snow. They were talking – but not enthusiastically, Oliver thought with relish. But seeing the two of them together boiled Oliver's blood – his deepest fears were confirmed and his nightmare had become a reality.

He continued to stare transfixed at the shop until Spinnet glanced out the window and saw him. She opened her mouth, as if she was about to yell. Confused, Diggory turned his handsome head to where his date was staring furiously; but Oliver was already retreating into the shadows of a nearby alley.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone :) Here is Chapter 4 - I hope you liked it :) Poor Oliver :( But does fraternising with the enemy sound familiar...eh? ;) Thanks to my Beta for giving me the idea of Spinnet dating Cedric. I originally had her with Russel, but this way would drive Oliver mental. **

**Please, pretty please with a cherry on top, review! xx**


	5. Chapter 5: Priorities

**Priorities**

Christmas break was upon the students and teachers at Hogwarts. All of the seventh-years were excited by this prospect, however, they quickly realised that their professors did not intend for them to have a holiday. Never before had Oliver struggled to find time for Quidditch – his NEWTs were fast becoming the most demanding and agonising exams he had ever taken.

Nevertheless, it was a relief to return home and spend Christmas with his parents, his two older brothers – Jamie and Henry, and his grandparents. Since his brothers were both playing professional Quidditch for the Ballycastle Bats and Puddlemere United, Oliver enjoyed conversations about the league and vigorous debates on the Quidditch World Cup (one ended with a brother covered with mashed potatoes at dinner). With the snow falling heavily outside while he and his family were gathered around the table eating delicious festive meals, Oliver continued to neglect the daunting pile of work as each day passed by.

Despite meeting with Russel and Alfie over the break, Oliver did not see anyone else from school. Oliver and Spinnet had maintained a cold countenance during the week leading up to the break; indeed, she had stopped attending the study sessions. It occurred to Oliver that this was probably because she was with Diggory. Whenever he remembered this, his insides clenched and he scowled angrily; snapping at anyone who attempted to talk to him. Thankfully, everyone thought that Oliver was stressed by Quidditch and NEWTs, rather than grappling with his feelings.

Many times had Oliver found himself in his room, his floor littered by scrunched up parchment, as he hunched over his desk attempting to write a letter to Spinnet. But what was he trying to say? Sorry? Of course not. _She_ was dating Diggory – the enemy. After each pitiful attempt, Oliver would gather up the mess, toss it in the bin and reduce it to ashes with his wand.

To ignore this new pain in his chest, Oliver buried himself further in his Quidditch regime. Before the break, Ravenclaw had thumped Hufflepuff in the Quidditch match; which meant that Gryffindor had a shot at the Cup. Oliver was ecstatic with this news and his new hope of winning the Cup. But perhaps what pleased him even more was Diggory's defeated face. Maybe if he could win the Cup, Spinnet would forgive him. Yet, the more Oliver organised his training and tactics, he realised that he was going to have to make a devastating decision.

When Oliver returned to school on the Hogwarts Express, he tracked down Potter before greeting any of his friends. He hated to have to do this, but it was what was best for the team.

"Had a good Christmas?" Oliver said, and then, without waiting for an answer, he sat down, lowered his voice and said, "I've been thinking over Christmas, Potter. After last match, you know. If the Dementors come to the next one…I mean…we can't afford you to – well – "

Oliver broke off, looking awkward.

"I'm working on it," said Potter quickly. "Professor Lupin said he'd train me to ward the Dementors off. We should be starting this week; he said he'd have time after Christmas."

"Ah," said Oliver, his expression clearing and relief surging through him. "Well, in that case – I really didn't want to lose you as Seeker, Potter. And have you ordered a new broom yet?"

"No," said Potter.

"What! You'd better get a move on, you know – you can't ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!"

"He got a Firebolt for Christmas," said a freckled, red-haired boy sitting next to Potter; who Oliver recognised as the youngest Weasley brother.

"A _Firebolt_? No! Seriously? A – a real _Firebolt_?"

An image of Potter playing in the next match on a Firebolt burst into Oliver's mind. His Seeker was nothing but a streak of red and gold, tearing through the air, the Snitch clutched in his hand triumphantly; a Hogwarts record for capturing the golden ball in the fastest time ever…

But Potter's next words, doused that victory.

"Don't get excited, Wood," said Potter gloomily. "I haven't got it anymore. It was confiscated." And he explained all about how the Firebolt was now being checked for jinxes.

"Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?"

"Sirius Black," Potter said wearily. "He's supposed to be after me. So McGonagall reckons he might have sent it."

Waving aside the information that a famous murderer was after his Seeker, Oliver said, "But Black couldn't have bought a Firebolt! He's on the run! The whole country's on the lookout for him! How could he just walking into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?"

"I know," said Potter, "but McGonagall still wants to strip it down – "

Oliver went pale.

"I'll go talk to her, Potter," he promised. "I'll make her see reason…a Firebolt…a real Firebolt, on our team…she wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do…I'll make her see sense…a _Firebolt_…"

**xxx**

At his next Transfiguration lesson, Oliver hung back in the classroom to discuss the Firebolt with Professor McGonagall. The news about Potter's new broom was euphoric; no other House team stood a chance against a Firebolt.

McGonagall received an unpleasant shock when she turned around to see Oliver, face alight with determination, waiting for her.

"Yes, Wood," she said wearily.

Oliver sensed that she was irritated as her lips were a thin line and circles were under her eyes; but his stubbornness overrode any inclination to be polite.

"I know Potter's got a Firebolt, Professor," Oliver started, "and I can't believe you're checking it for jinxes! Do you know what a Firebolt would mean? We could win! Why are you so worried about – "

But Oliver was cut off by McGonagall, "Why am I worried? A student is in danger of being killed, Wood; as I assume you are now aware. Of course, I am more concerned with his safety over winning the Quidditch tournament."

She began to leave the classroom, but Oliver persisted in his pursuit.

"But Professor, Gryffindor…the Cup…we haven't won since Charlie Weasley! Surely, you don't want to lose against Slytherin again? Who cares if the Firebolt's jinxed? As long as its speed isn't affected…I don't care if it throws Potter off, as long as he catches the Snitch first!"

"Wood!" yelled McGonagall, her eyes blazing and nostrils flaring. "I am disgusted that you are placing your own desire to win over your team mate's life! And _you _are meant to be Captain! Your priorities are completely out of order. Never, never, have I heard such atrocity from a student in my own House!"

"Well, when will you be finished with it?" asked Oliver desperately, ignoring her remarks and blocking her exit. "How much longer?"

McGonagall sidestepped Oliver and placed her hand on the door handle, "As long as necessary, Wood." Then she stepped outside to the crowded corridors and slammed the door.

Oliver went to find Potter that evening with his dismal report from McGonagall. He was in the common room, attempting to complete his homework when Oliver approached him.

"Bad news, Potter. I've just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She – er – got a bit shirty with me." And he elaborated on his argument with his Head of House. "… I reckon it's time you ordered a new broom. There's an order form at the back of _Which Broomstick_…you could get a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy's got."

"I'm not buying anything that Malfoy thinks is good," said Potter flatly; much to Oliver's disappointment.

**xxx**

Before Oliver knew it, January became February and his NEWTs were drawing nearer as well as the match against Ravenclaw. The team was training well, but Potter still had not bought a new broom or received his Firebolt back and Oliver was constantly worried about the hooded Dementors lurking in the distance at the school's entrances.

Then a miracle occurred. The night before the match, Potter's Firebolt was given the clear and returned to Gryffindor's Seeker. At the final practice, Potter showcased his broom to the rest of the team. There was only one word for the Firebolt: perfection. Its handle was so polished that you could see your reflection, its tail bristles were streamlined for aerodynamic speed and the golden inscription at the top of the broom enraptured Oliver's awe. He couldn't wait to tell his brothers that he had a Firebolt on his team! Never before had Oliver seen such beauty, then his eyes averted to Spinnet who too was admiring the Firebolt. Oliver cleared his throat and ordered his team out onto the pitch.

It was easily the best practice ever; the team were inspired by the presence of the Firebolt in their midst, and they performed their best moves faultlessly. By the time they hit the ground again, Oliver didn't have a single criticism to make – a first.

Oliver could no longer hold back his rejuvenated hope and joy, "I can't see what's going to stop us tomorrow!" then a sickening thought crossed his mind, "Not unless – Potter, you've sorted your Dementor problem, haven't you?"

"Yeah," replied Potter.

"The Dementors won't turn up again, Wood, Dumbledore'd do his nut," said one of the twins confidently.

"Well, let's hope not," said Oliver, "Anyway – good work, everyone. Let's get back to the Tower – turn in early…"

"I'm staying out for a bit, Ron wants a go on the Firebolt," Potter told Oliver.

The rest of the team headed towards the changing rooms – excited by tomorrow's match. Oliver was the last to leave for the castle as the setting sun cast an orange glow over the trees of the Forbidden Forest; asserting his confidence.

On his way to the portrait hole, revising his strategies, a strange, muffled noise reached Oliver's ears. He paused and looked around; discerning that the noise was issuing from behind a tapestry. His Gryffindor curiosity got the better of him and Oliver peered into the concealed corridor. Initially, Oliver was confused as he could not see anyone. But he looked down, he found Spinnet sitting on the floor, hastily wiped her eyes. She had been crying.

"Oh, Wood…I was just…" she sniffed.

Oliver felt incredibly awkward and uncomfortable and wishing he had ignored the source of the mysterious sound. He scratched his dark brown hair, windswept from training, and felt his cheeks rising in colour.

"Erm…"

A silence pursued but Oliver felt compelled to remain where he was.

Then suddenly he asked, "What's wrong?"

Spinnet appeared surprised, and another emotion was spreading across her face that Oliver couldn't recognise. She stared at him intently for several seconds before replying, "Diggory and I…" she sighed, "It didn't work out. He broke up with me."

Oliver's heart erupted into joy, stronger than he had ever experienced after a Quidditch victory. He had to fight down the urge to grin manically. But when he saw Spinnet's face – crestfallen and hurt – Oliver's happiness diminished.

"I'm sorry," he said; and the strange thing was – he meant it. How could he be glad when Spinnet looked as though her heart was breaking?

Feeling a sense of déjà vu; Oliver plopped himself down next to Spinnet.

"No, you're not," Spinnet said, attempting a small grin.

"Well…sort of…" he admitted and this time Spinnet laughed, causing Oliver to smile.

"No, it's alright," Spinnet conceded, "I'm not that upset by it."

"Diggory should be though," Oliver said.

"What do you mean?"

"Look at what he lost! You! I can't believe anyone wouldn't go out with you, Spinnet. You're the most incredible person I know, not to mention you're a brilliant Chaser." Strangely, Oliver did not feel embarrassed at all by his words. To him, it was the most obvious fact in the world.

Spinnet beamed up at Oliver and rested her head on his shoulder, "Thanks, Captain."

After a moment of Oliver savouring his time with Spinnet and their mutual reconciliation, Oliver stood up and offered Spinnet a hand to help her up, which she took; making his heart race. They held hands slightly longer than necessary and then made their way to the common room.

"Hold on a second," Spinnet said abruptly; her hazel eyes alight as though she had made a ground-breaking discovery, "You didn't even ask if my break up would affect the match tomorrow. You didn't even mention Quidditch…"

Oliver's eyes widened to the size of Galleons; overcome with shock, "I…I…er…" he stammered. It should have been his first instinct to ask about Quidditch. What was happening to him?

Meanwhile, Spinnet was now wearing a wide grin and looked highly pleased with her observation and Oliver's abject horror.

"Oh, cheer up Wood!" Spinnet remarked, patting Oliver's shoulder. "There are more important things than Quidditch."

She turned towards the portrait hole to give the password to the Fat Lady, while Oliver remained astounded and beginning to realise that his priorities had been rearranged.

For the rest of the night as Oliver prepared to go bed, he found that he was not focusing on the match tomorrow but rather debating with himself whether or not dating a teammate was appropriate…

He was Quidditch Captain…

…she was strictly of limits…

…he called everyone by their last names for a reason…

…they were a team…

…there was only a couple of matches to go though…

…what difference was it really?

…it could completely ruin his chance of the Cup…

…but did he want the Cup that desperately anymore…

was there something else?

Oliver pounded his fist against his plush pillow in frustration. As Alfie's loud snores filled the dormitory and Oliver drifted off into an uneasy sleep, his final thought was that Spinnet might be right: there were important things than Quidditch.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked this chapter cause I had lots of fun writing it :D As you can see we are getting into the more fluffy stuff now, as Oliver reorganises his priorities - I think it is quite cute. You might of also recognised some excerpts from the third book...I always thought it would be funny to read how the Oliver's conversation with McGonagall went :) Anyway, hope you liked it! Reviews would make my day! xx**


	6. Chapter 6: A Seal on Victory

**A Seal on Victory**

Before the sun had risen and its rays graced the top of the Forbidden Forest and calm surface of the Black Lake, Oliver's eyes snapped open; alert and tense. Far from feeling relaxed and rejuvenated from his sleep, Oliver felt awfully stressed like his heart had been tied into a large, sharp knot.

His sleep had been ruptured by horrible scenarios of the match – one of which his team was playing on toy broomsticks and Oliver had to defend goalposts the size of Ferris Wheels. Another, more disconcerting one, had involved Spinnet falling from her broom into a black mass of Dementors, their scabbed and rotting hands reaching out for her…Oliver sat up in his bed and rested his head in his palms; hunching his broad shoulders. He was surprised to find that he was covered in cold sweat from his nightmares.

He changed quickly from behind his hangings and passed the early hours of the morning immersing himself in his training notes and trying to direct all his focus onto the match. Most importantly, he was careful not to disturb anyone in his dormitory, especially Percy Weasley. Oliver would never forget the wrath that meet him when he accidently dropped his broom with a loud clatter one Monday morning in fifth year. Percy had demonstrated the infamous Weasley temper and made sure Oliver would wince every time he sat down for the remainder of the week.

Later, when he entered the Great Hall, Oliver found that he was the first to arrive. Initially, there was no food laid out on the tables but when Oliver settled on a seat, toast, porridge, cereal, jugs of milk and pumpkin juice, bacon, eggs and sausages suddenly materialised. Despite the delicious and alluring aromas of the freshly made food, Oliver's stomach churned and he felt nauseous. So, Oliver turned his attention to the bewitched ceiling. It was going to be a clear, cool day – nothing like their previous match.

By the time the others began to arrive in the Great Hall, Oliver had only managed to swallow some pumpkin juice. However, his nervousness dimmed when Potter arrived in the Hall with his Firebolt – the weapon that was surely going to win them the match. In fact, everyone else seemed to sense the Firebolt's presence as an air of excitement settled over the Hall and awed whispers broke out.

"Put it here, Potter," Oliver said, laying the broom in the middle of the table and carefully turning it so that its name face upwards.

Increasing Oliver's pride in his new addition to the team, was the fact that students from other Houses came to admire the broom – including Cedric Diggory. However, the Slytherin Seeker – Malfoy – whom Oliver disliked, visited their table.

"Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?" said his cold, drawling voice.

"Yeah, reckon so," said Potter casually.

"Got plenty of special features, hasn't it?" said Malfoy, eyes glittering maliciously. "Shame it doesn't come with a parachute – in case you get too near a Dementor."

Two thick third-years whose presence, to Oliver, was nothing more than to be Malfoy's shadows, sniggered.

"Pity you can't attach an extra arms to yours, Malfoy," said Potter. "Then it could catch the Snitch for you."

The Gryffindor team laughed loudly. Malfoy's pale eyes narrowed, and he stalked away.

When Oliver checked his watch at a quarter to eleven, he ordered his team to set off to the training rooms. The rest of school soon followed as the team could hear them fill up the stands above; chattering excitedly.

Once everybody was dressed and equipped to head out to the pitch, Oliver faced his team. He knew this was their chance to win the Cup and most of all he knew they could do it. He would let nothing get in their way – no Dementors, no extreme weather event, no Slytherin and no Diggory.

"You know what we've got to do," announced Oliver. "If we lose this match, we're out of the running. Just – just fly like you did in practice yesterday, and we'll be OK!"

Spinnet, who Oliver had been purposefully attempting to avoid all morning so as not to become distracted, gave Oliver a confident smile. Yet, somehow this made him more anxious.

If Oliver's heart had not felt as though it was thumping wildly in his throat and pounding in his ears, he may have heard the tumultuous applause that erupted in the stands at Gryffindor's entrance. But Oliver was now in a state of total focus and all his senses were tuned to the Quidditch match – on the Ravenclaw team standing in front of him, his strategies, the smell of freshly cut grass, the mounting taste of anticipation and adrenaline coursing through him.

"Wood, Davies, shake hands," Madam Hooch said briskly, and Oliver grasped hands with the opposition hoping to fracture a few of Davies' bones.

"Mount your brooms…on my whistle…three – two – one –"

Oliver soared into the air and made a beeline for the goal posts. Now in the air Oliver experienced the familiar calm that overtook him and his mind was focused on nothing but the location of the Quaffle and the performance of his teammates. Oliver was not even listening to the commentary, otherwise he would have heard McGonagall scolding Lee Jordon for his sale pitch on the Firebolt.

This match was fast becoming a testimony to all the training, hard work and talent of the Gryffindor team. Not once had the Quaffle come close to Oliver's end of the pitch, due largely to the superb aim of the Weasleys and his Chasers' seamless synchronisation (Oliver beamed when he saw them display a perfect Hawkshead Attacking Formation). Indeed, Potter was nothing but a blur as the Ravenclaw Seeker – Cho Chang – failed to tail him. Gryffindor were eighty points in front. Oliver swelled with pride.

Then suddenly Potter pulled into a dive and Oliver's heart leapt. This was it – they were going to win! However, a Bludger came soaring into his path causing his Seeker to lose sight of the tiny golden ball. Oliver swore very loudly; but didn't have time to vent his full frustration as Davies was streaking towards him with the Quaffle in possession.

Oliver gripped the handle of his broom tightly; preparing to defend Davies' throw. Then Oliver saw Davies twitch slightly to the left and Oliver knew which hoop he was aiming for. Steering his broom in that direction, Oliver hit the Quaffle with the tail of his broomstick in the opposite direction but then another Ravenclaw Chaser caught the Quaffle and scored a goal through the right goal hoop.

Soon, Ravenclaw had scored another goal when Oliver was forced to roll over in mid-air to avoid a Bludger. Now, he was becoming increasingly frustrated. He would not let this team stand in the way of him and the Quidditch Finals.

When the Ravenclaw Chasers were making another assault for their end of the pitch, Oliver tensed and was determined not to let them score another goal. Fred seemed to have the same idea in mind as he hit a Bludger towards the approaching Chaser, unfortunately Davies skilfully dodged it. Yet, George had aimed a second Bludger at the Ravenclaw captain out of his line of vision; but just as it was about to collide with its target Spinnet had soared upwards into its line of fire. Oliver paled and his sweaty palms slipped on his broom handle; causing him to descend a few inches. Just as Oliver was about to yell out and warn Spinnet, Fred interceded and batted the Bludger away. But in the meantime Oliver had forgotten about Davies and, so, the opposing Chaser soared past him to score. Oliver blinked. His face remained blank as he tried to comprehend what he had just done. And, not for the first time, he wondered why he was much more relieved Spinnet was unharmed than furious that he had let his guard down.

Oliver shook his head trying to clear his mind and refocus his energy on the game.

All he could hope now, was that Potter caught the Snitch; otherwise Ravenclaw would win. With this in mind, he kept one eye on the game and with the other he searched the skies for his Seeker. Just as Oliver located Potter, he saw him diving again towards the Gryffindor goalposts. But then Chang cut across his path; blocking him and to Oliver's outrage Potter swerved to avoid her thereby losing the Snitch again.

"POTTER, THIS IS NO TIME TO BE A GENTLEMAN!" Oliver roared. "KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM IF YOU HAVE TO!"

Fuming Oliver turned his attention back on the game – where Johnson was in possession, dropping the Quaffle to Bell who was flying beneath her. Just as she was approaching the goals, Oliver caught sight of Potter flying higher and higher with his eyes narrowed and a hand reaching out…he had seen the Snitch and Chang was far behind him.

Then, Chang screamed and Potter, distracted, turned around. Fuming, Oliver opened his mouth to report this foul play but then he saw why Chang had shrieked, his stomach dropped. Three hooded Dementors were looking up at Potter, one of them lifting up an arm as though to pull Potter towards the ground. This couldn't be happening, not again. But then a Dementor staggered and Oliver caught glimpse of a black shoe underneath its clock…since when did Dementors wear _shoes_?

While Oliver was attempting to figure out what was happening, he heard Potter roar an incantation and suddenly a large, sliver white stag shot directly towards the Dementors; hitting them square in the chest. All three of them tumbled over and Oliver briefly saw the stunned face of the Slytherin Seeker.

But there was little time to dwell on this prank as Madam Hooch's whistle sounded and Oliver realised that Potter had caught the Snitch. Oliver turned his broom around and pelted towards his Seeker who was holding the Snitch high above him; a triumphant grin upon his face.

"That's my boy!" Oliver yelled, over and over, after he had caught Potter in a mid-air hug; ruffling his hair. Finally, Oliver and his team were in the finals…only one match separated him from the long-awaited and desired Cup! It was what he had always wanted and his heart was swollen with joy; positively filled with glee. As the team somehow managed to make their way back onto the ground to greet the oncoming flood of Gryffindor supporters, Oliver knew there was nothing, absolutely nothing, in the world that could beat this very moment.

But as soon as this thought occurred to Oliver, he was proved wrong.

As various people congratulated Oliver and one particular enthusiastic, random fourth year embraced Oliver; Spinnet, beaming radiantly, ran towards Oliver and threw her arms around his neck. Oliver did not think twice and responded with equal fervour, by lifting Spinnet off the ground in a hug and declaring, "We did it!"

Spinnet drew back allowing Oliver to fully realise just how pretty she was. Her hazel eyes were sparkling with delight, blinking up at Oliver through long lashes; her pale cheeks were flushed; her smile revealed two dimples that Oliver had never noticed before; her straight sandy hair fell just below her shoulders, shaping her angular face; and her lips were rosy pink. Oliver was overcome by a sudden impulse to crush his own lips against hers. How had he never noticed this before?

Alicia Spinnet was beautiful.

Spinnet blushed deeply when she realised that Oliver was staring at her.

"We couldn't have done it without you, Wood," she whispered proudly.

Then, after a moment's hesitation, she reached upwards and kissed Oliver on the cheek. Oliver felt heat creeping over his face from where her soft lips had touched his skin. But before he could say anything, Spinnet turned around and disappeared into the cheering crowd. Oliver remained frozen; touching his hand to his cheek than staring at it in amazement. He wasn't sure how he felt, but he was certain that he probably looked as though he had been clubbed over the head with a Beater's bat.

An arm grasped Oliver's shell-shocked body from behind and he vaguely heard George Weasley shout, "PARTY! Gryffindor Common Room!" The raucous gaggle of people slowly and loudly made their way up to the Gryffindor Tower, Oliver only semi-conscious of where he was going. Indeed, he was numb from the overwhelming amounts of happiness exploding like fireworks inside of him.

* * *

**Hey again guys :) So here is the new chapter :) Hope you liked it :D I might not be able to update in a while as I am in my final term of school forever (YAY!) but have a bunch of assessment going on (sigh)...So I will be busy doing my English, Maths and Geography...woohoo...Trust me, I would much rather be writing fanfic but the plus side is in a few weeks, I'll have absolutely nothing to do but write and finish this story :D **

**Thanks to all my reviewers, favouriters and followers 3 and, of course, my Beta :D**

**Please read and review to get me through my tests and assignments! xx**


	7. Chapter 7: A Game of Chess

**A Game of Chess**

The Gryffindor Common Room was overflowing with ecstatic students partying under a red and gold canopy of streamers and banners and tables laden with a variety of snacks (which Oliver suspected that his Beaters had stolen from the kitchens) – all signs of their House's latest victory against Ravenclaw.

Oliver could not stop smiling as he enjoyed the festivities – it felt as though he had already won the Cup. Though he heard a voice at the back of his mind, insisting that he should be preparing for the Finals, Oliver decided to tune this out. Indeed, he could not bring himself to remove the Weasleys from their entertaining re-enactment of the match using bewitched furniture soaring overhead; or distract Spinnet, Johnson or Bell from their conversations with Quidditch admirers. As he looked over at his Chasers' fan club, Spinnet caught his eye and smiled. Oliver returned the gesture but then tried hastily to busy himself in a conversation with Percy who was boasting about his ten galleon win from his Ravenclaw girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater.

Although Oliver was initially excited and surprisingly pleased by Spinnet's...erm...well...his joy was rapidly transforming into anticipation and fear. Oliver had never been in this situation before. He'd never been kissed, let alone had a girlfriend and quite frankly he was dumbfounded on what was supposed to happen next. Russell and Alfie always gesticulated about making "moves" on girls, but the only moves Oliver knew were related to Quidditch. He had always committed his time to his favourite sport, but now he was regretting not learning something – anything – about relationships. He could approach this like a Quidditch match; but Oliver was a Keeper and what he knew best, above anything, was defensive strategies. Somehow, he didn't think this was would be of any use as he had the feeling that Spinnet was waiting for him to do something next. Honestly, it was like a game of chess and Oliver was fully aware that he was hopeless at both of these things.

Why couldn't his life be simple?

Why couldn't he just focus on Quidditch?

Oliver had now shuffled away to the opposite side of the room, creating distance between himself and Spinnet. He reached a table and made to grab some crisps, however, another hand had decided to block his access to the bowl. Oliver scowled as his dark eyes followed the hand up to its owner's face, but was then taken aback to find a short, sixth-year girl, beaming up at him. The girl shook her long, wavy mane of blonde hair back and giggled, a little too enthusiastically, Oliver thought.

"Oh, sorry!" she laughed, showing her white, even teeth and grazing her hand along his shoulder apologetically.

"Er, that's alright," Oliver replied and began to return his attention to the crisps but the girl stepped in front of him.

"You're Quidditch Captain, aren't you?" she asked, flashing her bright blue eyes.

"Yeah," said Oliver, scratching his head, as there appeared to be no escape from this determined stranger.

"So, I should thank _you _for Gryffindor's win?" she said sweetly, still smiling oddly at Oliver.

"Well…we're a team…" corrected Oliver. What was this girl doing, he wondered? No, _who_ was this girl?

"You're so modest," she simpered as she stepped closer to Oliver.

"Er…who are you?" he asked bluntly, however, the girl did not appear to be offended and she giggled again. Oliver was finding her increasingly annoying.

"I'm Laura Horton," she replied. "I just joined your study group."

"Oh."

Oliver did not remember Laura from his study sessions in the library. Admittedly, the one person he did remember was Spinnet…a lot of Spinnet, actually. Before she had started dating Diggory, Oliver had found it hard to work across from her; often catching himself staring at her as his ink blotted his page. In fact, he could not remember doing too much studying…

Laura had continued chatting nonsensically as Oliver lost himself in his thoughts. But her ridiculous giggles were getting on his nerves and he wanted to get away.

"Um," Oliver interrupted. "I – er – need a drink."

"Here," Laura said, summoning two Butterbeers and forcing one into his hand. Then she took his free hand and steered him into a corner.

Oliver cast his eyes over the sea of people, hoping to find a rescuer. When he looked to his left, he saw Spinnet staring at him in shock, clearly hurt at what she was witnessing. And that's when Oliver realised how close Laura was standing next to him and how tightly she was holding onto his hand and how his current predicament could be entirely misinterpreted.

"Wait!" said Oliver, looking rapidly from Spinnet to Laura. "No!" he added, as he wrenched his hand from Laura's clutches and pushed her aside.

But Spinnet gave Oliver one furious glare and turned on her heel. Oliver hurried after her shoving others aside in his pursuit, including upsetting Percy's drink over his front robes.

"Wait," Oliver said again, and he lunged and grabbed Spinnet's arm.

Spinnet turned to face Oliver, still glaring up at him, "What?" she spat.

That was a good question, thought Oliver. _What_ was he trying to explain, _what_ had just happened with Laura and _what_ exactly was going on between Spinnet and Oliver?

"I – erm…" Oliver swallowed, struggling to find the right words.

While Oliver continued to splutter, Spinnet looked down at Oliver's hand still clasped upon her upper arm.

"Oh, right…sorry," Oliver released her; then continued blindly onwards. "Look, what you just saw…I mean…that wasn't…it was nothing…"

"I don't know what you mean, Wood," Spinnet replied casually, though she gave him an icy stare.

Now, Oliver was confused, "Wait…what?"

"I said, I don't know what you mean and, honestly, I don't know why you think I'd care."

Oliver frowned as he struggled to comprehend what Spinnet had just said. Had he been wrong to think that things were different between them?

"Enjoy the party," Spinnet added curtly before striding upstairs to her dormitory.

Oliver watched her disappear among the hoard of people with an expression of intense concentration on his face; replaying the conversation over in his mind. Where had he gone wrong?

"Ouch, that's gotta hurt," said a voice in Oliver's ear.

Oliver turned around and found Russell standing next him and winking at him with a knowing expression in his grey eyes.

Startled by his friend's sudden appearance and sly grin, Oliver did not reply. He could not believe what he had done and just how quickly he had messed things up with Spinnet. He may be naïve and oblivious when it came to relationships but he did know that he had just done something horribly wrong.

"I don't get it," replied Oliver blankly.

"I'll let you in on a secret, mate," said Russell; patting Oliver on the back and taking a swig of his Butterbeer. "No one does."

* * *

**Hey :) I know this is a short chapter, but it is all I have had time for and my Beta told me to finish it here - so here you go :) I hope you still enjoyed it, including Oliver's naivety and hopelessness. Please read and review :D xx**


	8. Chapter 8: NEWTs

**I know, I know! I'm sorry, I haven't updated in AGES! It's just that a lot has gone on over the past weeks/months. I had exams, then I finished school forever (woooo!). Then, in the holidays I've been catching up with friends and seeing Coldplay (which was the most incredible, amazical and awesome-est night of my life, I'm still reeling from it, even though it was a couple of weeks ago. You should all get their Live 2012 CD/DVD - but...anyways, back to the point). And I've found, once you're on holidays and you start doing nothing, it's awfully hard to stop doing nothing. So, sorry for my laziness! But, finally I have updated and I'll hope you'll forgive me and stick with the story despite my long absence with the longest chapter yet. And don't worry, I will update a lot quicker next time for Chapter 9 :) And thanks to HermioneLunaPotter who told me to hurry up and finish this chapter. I did write some of this during my exams as you might detect through Oliver's raging... ;)**

**Please don't give up on this story! It will be finished soon - I'm thinking a couple more chapters! So, read, enjoy and review! xx**

* * *

**NEWTs**

Even though the celebrations were still raging strong into the early hours of the morning, Oliver decided to head to bed. Thankfully, no one took much notice as he retreated up the staircase, which muffled the yells and laughter of Gryffindor House. Oliver's muscles ached from the match and his eyes itched with tiredness, but his overworking brain refused to sleep.

Since Spinnet left the party, Oliver had sulked in an armchair near the fire; his wide frame appearing limp and defeated as he stared gloomily into the bright orange flames. This was the exact opposite of how he was meant to feel after a victory, but Oliver was realising that something (or someone) was becoming more important than Quidditch. Yet, as soon as he came to this realisation he was blatantly aware that he had seriously messed up with Spinnet.

It struck Oliver, as he lay under his covers, how blind he had been in recognising the signs…the study group, the break-up with Diggory, the kiss…

Oliver punched his pillow into a more comfortable position, though perhaps too hard as a few feathers flew out, and turned on his side. Eventually, he heard the other boys enter the dormitory and settle into their beds. Through a gap in his hangings, a sliver of moonlight cut across Oliver's face as he gazed out into the dark school grounds. It was still outside as Oliver's eyes drooped dangerously. Then, suddenly, just as Oliver was falling into an uneasy sleep, he saw a huge, black figure bound across the grounds…

xxx

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH ! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Oliver's eyes snapped opened as he tumbled out of bed onto the hard wooden floors. It was as though someone had slapped him on the face and he thought vaguely that this must what it felt like for his teammates to be woken by him. He felt that he'd only been asleep for half an hour and judging by the black sky outside that he squinted through bleary eyes, he was right.

He was not the only one of his dorm mates who had been startled awake – many were tearing back their hangings and looking around for the disturbance.

From another room, there were more shouts and disgruntled cries and then a dormitory door banged open and, by the sound of it, several boys were racing downstairs.

Percy Weasley was already opening the door and heading downstairs, with an indignant and angry expression upon his face. The other seventh-year boys followed, including Oliver, and they joined the rush of people into the common room.

Sleepy voices called out from the staircase.

"Who shouted?"

"What're you doing?"

When they reached the common room, lit dimly by the dying embers and littered by debris from the party – Oliver found Potter and his fellow third-years at the centre of the confusion. The third-year boys were questioning Potter's red-haired friend.

"Are you _sure _weren't dreaming, Ron?"

"I'm telling you, I saw him!"

More students continued to ask bewilderedly, "What's all this noise?", "Professor McGonagall told us to go to bed!"

Some girls were coming down from their dormitories, pulling on dressing gowns and yawning. Boys, too, were reappearing.

From behind, Oliver heard a Weasley twin shout, "Excellent, are we carrying on?"

"Everyone back upstairs!" said Percy, shoving forward into the common room while he pinned his Head Boy badge to his pyjamas.

"Perce – Sirius Black!" said Ron faintly. "In our dormitory! With a knife! Woke me up!"

The common room went still.

"Nonsense!" said Percy, looking startled. "You had too much to eat, Ron – had a nightmare – "

"I'm telling you – "

"Now, really, enough's enough!"

Professor McGonagall had clambered through the portrait hole and was straightening up, pulling her tartan dressing gown straight. She slammed the portrait shut and looked around furiously.

"I am delighted that Gryffindor won the match, but this is getting ridiculous! Percy, I expected better of you!"

"I certainly didn't authorise this, Professor!" said Percy, puffing himself out indignantly. "I was just telling them all to get back to bed! My brother Ron here had a nightmare –"

"IT WASN'T A NIGHTMARE!" Ron yelled, his face turning red. "PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!"

Professor McGonagall stared at him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Weasley, how could he possibly have got passed the portrait hole?"

"Ask him!" said Ron, pointing a shaking finger at the back of Sir Cadogan's picture. "Ask him if he saw –"

Glaring suspiciously at Ron, Professor McGonagall pushed the portrait back open and went outside. The whole common room listened with baited breath.

"Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man enter Gryffindor Tower?"

"Certainly, good lady!" cried Sir Cadogan.

There was a stunned silence, both inside and outside the common room.

"You – you _did_?" said Professor McGonagall. "But – but the password!"

"He had 'em!" said Sir Cadogan proudly. "Had the whole week's, my lady! Read 'em off a little piece of paper!"

Professor McGonagall pulled herself back through the portrait hole to face the stunned crowd – a silent shiver rippled through the crowd at Sir Cadogan's proclamation. Oliver had froze and his blood ran cold – Sirius Black, the notorious mass murderer, in Hogwarts? For some reason, his eyes began searching for Spinnet.

Professor McGonagall was as white as chalk.

"Which person," she said, her voice shaking, "which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week's passwords and left them lying around?"

There was utter silence, broken by the smallest of terrified squeaks. A boy standing near Potter, trembling from head to fluffy-slippered toes, raised his hand slowly into the air.

All the students' eyes bored down on this single student and McGonagall's nostrils flared. The boy winced under the professor's sharp gaze.

"Mr Longbottom," she began furiously, "never…not in…all my years…" Yet, McGonagall's anger was so powerful that she struggled to speak. After glaring at him for several more seconds, she turned raptly to Percy and ordered that he go and alert the other staff. Once Percy had left she addressed the common room at large,

"I expect you to remain in the common room as I go and alert Dumbledore," she said sternly, "You," she pointed at the prefects, "are in charge."

Then she turned briskly to leave, but before she did she barked at the shaking third-year boy, "Detention, Longbottom. No Hogsmeade trips. And you have lost the right to know the password to this common room. Never have I been so appalled by a student."

Once the portrait had shut again the common room burst into talk. The atmosphere was a mix of emotions – fear, excitement, shock – as the students discussed what had just unfolded. Was Sirius Black still in the castle? Was he going to escape again? Why was he targeting Gryffindor? Many students were asking Ron exactly what had happened – and though he still appeared unnerved, he replied eagerly.

However, Oliver's eyes were still roaming throughout the common room, desperate to make sure Spinnet was alright. When he caught sight of her, among a group of fifth-years talking tensely, he made towards her then stopped himself. What was he meant to say? She was probably still angry with him.

Sighing, he sought out Alfie and Russel and turned his back on Spinnet, yet, Oliver kept a careful eye on her for the remainder of the morning, as the Gryffindors waited anxiously for McGonagall to return.

xxx

With Black escaping again, tighter security was evident throughout the castle. Security trolls prowled the Gryffindor tower, Filch was blocking every tiny hole and crack in the wall, Flitwick was teaching the front doors to recognise Sirius Black and the armour had been enchanted with security alarms. Oliver, though, had more pressing matters on his mind – despite the recent scare.

"I don't think she wants to talk to you, mate," observed Alfie, who stood next to Oliver as he watched Spinnet purposefully walk in the opposite direction after she had caught sight of her pursuer.

Oliver's recent victory had been doused by the fact that Spinnet no longer wanted to talk to him. It wasn't that he did not attempt to make amends; rather Spinnet was denying him the opportunity. She was avoiding him in the corridors, making herself appear immersed in work in the common room, pretending to be deeply engaged in conversation at the Gryffindor table and practically sprinting from the change rooms after Quidditch training. Even at the study sessions in the library, she positioned herself as far away from Oliver as she possibly could and made a point of talking to anyone but him. Oliver's heart clenched whenever he peered over from his Astronomy notes and glimpsed Spinnet's sandy hair acting as a curtain to block her face from his view.

What was even worse, was that Spinnet's negligence had caused Oliver to struggle focusing on his Quidditch training regime and his rapidly approaching NEWTs. It did not help that all of his teachers were doing their best to make him feel ill prepared and assigning an impossible mountain of homework. And, of course, there was Percy Weasley.

Oliver had lived with Percy through six years of magical education, including OWLs, but that did not prepare the seventh year Gryffindor boys for being with the NEWT-studying-likely to explode at any moment-Percy. All of the inhabitants of their dormitory had been at the other end of Percy's temper and frustrated rampages caused by the stress of NEWTs. But Percy also enforced new restrictions on his dorm mates – sound levels could not exceed negative decibels, lights out was when Percy had completed his two-foot long Potion's essay and, on weekends, the dormitory was reserved for a studying Percy.

Yet, perhaps the most annoying habit of Percy's new stress levels occurred at night. It was not unusual for Oliver to be woken several times, for Percy would suddenly cry out in his sleep the twelve uses of dragon blood or the dates of goblin rebellions. Suffice to say, Oliver could not remember the last time he had had a solid night of sleep.

Oliver watched Spinnet disappear reluctantly down the hall and headed for his Potions lesson in the dungeons with Alfie and Russel. That's what he needed right now, a double lesson with Snape…

xxx

Over the next few weeks in the lead up to his examinations, Oliver found himself thinking of nothing but NEWTs and Quidditch. He felt as though he was drowning or, more appropriately, that he had fallen asleep on an open book and someone had shut it seven times against his head.

History of Magic was his first NEWT exam on the Monday. Oliver loathed this subject with every fibre of his being, but had been forced to take it by his mother who was an enthusiastic historian. Honestly, if she wanted to kill Oliver there were much easier and less painful ways to do so.

The seventh year cohort was alert with stress and apprehension on Monday morning, while they ate breakfast in the Great Hall. Many students were muttering to themselves, drooping asleep or staring blankly at propped up books while their fork missed their open mouth for their cheek. Oliver too was extremely nervous, especially at the sight of the Ministry examiners.

Upon entering the Great Hall, where the House tables had been replaced with rows of individual desks, Oliver abruptly realised the magnitude and importance of the test he was about to complete. He wished he'd listened more in class, and looking around at his pale classmates, he felt comforted by the fact that they probably shared the same sentiments.

Oliver was so overcome with this new rush of nervousness when he had settled in his seat, that it took him several minutes to realise that everyone else had begun. Shaking his head and taking a shaky breath, he opened his paper and read the first question:

"_Describe the aftermath of the 1891 goblin rebellion. Do you consider this to impact wizard-goblin relations today?"_

Oliver closed his eyes in concentration and attempted to remember his notes. 1891…that was the rebellion of Urg the Unclean…it was a pretty gruesome battle…and it had resulted in…what? Oliver could not recall anything on Urg, he'd been focusing on Glug the Gruesome. He considered bitterly that the aftermath had been him forced to study such a pointless subject. Oliver cursed under his breath, which caught the stern glare of a nearby examiner – an ancient witch wearing straight, black robes.

Well, thought Oliver, if this boded for the rest of the test then he could be safely assured that he would receive a Troll.

xxx

"I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE!"

"One more to go and then we're finished school forever, Alfie," said Oliver calmly, wearily rubbing his eyes as he sat with his two friends studying at a table in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"No," he continued to shout, "I've done enough tests for my entire life!"

Suddenly, he shot up out of his chair, grabbed a pile of his Potion notes and tore them up in frustration. Oliver and Russell simply stared at Alfie as if he was a mildly interesting show. Alfie took several ragged breaths as he scowled and the parchment rained on him. Then, he reluctantly pulled out his wand, cast '_Reparo'_ on his notes, which reassembled into their pileand muttered something about having an early night, before disappearing upstairs.

It wasn't long before Russel followed in Alfie's footstep and left Oliver alone studying. Well, he was _trying _to study but Oliver found that after half an hour he was simply re-reading the same sentence in his Transfiguration textbook. When Oliver glanced down at his watch and noted that it was already five hours before his final NEWT exam, he rose from his chair and sighed loudly in defeat.

Yet, as he did so, he realised that he wasn't the only one in the common room. Spinnet, who, from the rumpled look of her hair, had been snoozing in one of the puffy armchairs stirred feebly. Oliver smiled in spite of himself at the sight before the dying fire – Spinnet's arms were hanging limply over the arms of her chair, leaving her Arthimancy textbook lying across her chest while her mouth gaped open. He thought she still looked rather pretty, slumped unconscious in a chair.

Oliver began to make his way over to Spinnet; intending to wake her up to so she could go up to her dormitory. But just as he reached his hand out, he paused. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea, he wondered. Spinnet probably wouldn't be happy to see him. Then again, how could he leave her here? While he debated the chance of waking Spinnet up without running the risk of having her Arthimancy book thrown at him, an owl screeched past the window and Spinnet shot up in her chair.

She blinked blearily up at Oliver whose hand remained outstretched above her shoulder.

"What's going on?" she asked, tiredly.

"Oh. Nothing. You…er…I saw that…you were asleep, so I thought I'd wake you." Oliver's eyes darted around the common room, determined to look anywhere but at Spinnet.

"Well, thanks," said Spinnet shortly.

After an awkward pause, she turned to gather up her books into her bag and made her way quickly to the girl's staircase without looking at Oliver.

Oliver dared a glance at her as she stalked away. As she put one foot on the first staircase Spinnet spun around to face Oliver. Their eyes locked across the common room – hazel and brown. Oliver's heart fluttered in his chest. This was it, Oliver thought, his moment to make things right. Yet, just as he opened his mouth to say something, Spinnet broke the connection between by racing up to her dormitory.

Though for the briefest moment Oliver's heart felt light as Spinnet actually looked at him for the first time in weeks, his heart seemed to have now turned into stone and plummeted unpleasantly into his stomach. Oliver kicked out at a chair in frustration and ran his hands roughly through his short hair. He couldn't take this anymore…this wasn't how it was meant to be…he could barely study or focus on anything with the knowledge that Spinnet wasn't talking to him. Something had to be done and Oliver had a plan that could either go seamlessly or devastatingly.

xxx

When Oliver stepped out into the grounds with his fellow seventh-years, the sun touched his face and seemed to fill him with the purest joy. He had finished his exams. He had completed his magical education. And even though Oliver felt that his Transfiguration NEWTs had perhaps not been his best effort, he could not help smiling.

As all the year level sat outside the school grounds, either lounging in the plush grass, chatting with friends or swimming with the giant squid, an euphoric atmosphere shone among them. Oliver was lying in the shade of a beech tree with Russel and Alfie, staring into the clear, blue sky dotted with patches of pearly clouds.

Finally, Oliver could concentrate on what mattered most to him: the Quidditch finals. And, in hand with this, he could have an opportunity to fix things with Spinnet.

So, when Oliver saw Spinnet in the distance leaving the greenhouses, he left the celebrating seventh years and hurried over to join her.

Spinnet was walking with a group of various friends and, thankfully, Angelina Johnson was not in their ranks. As Oliver got closer to the group he could see that they all were wearing discontent faces due to the fact that they were covered in and reeked of dragon manure.

"Spinnet!" Oliver called, "I need to talk to you. About Quidditch practice."

Oliver tried to ignore the scowl that flickered across Spinnet's face as she reluctantly disentangled herself from her group and strode over to her Quidditch captain.

"What?" she said waspishly.

"Quidditch practice this evening. After dinner. It'll just be a chance to go over our strategy. I know it's late notice, but the rest of the team said they could do it."

"Sure. I'll be there."

Then, without another word, she chased after her friends who were now entering the castle.

Oliver knew what he was doing was wrong – never would he have dreamed of abusing his powers as Quidditch Captain for his own ends. But he was desperate and such times inspired, well, desperate measures.


	9. Chapter 9: When Hazel Met Brown

**When Hazel Met Brown…**

Later that evening as Oliver nervously paced the width of the Quidditch change rooms, he began to seriously doubt his scheme of tricking Spinnet into talking to him. His initial instincts had now melted away and his common sense (slightly late on the uptake) was nagging at his conscience. But Oliver couldn't simply walk away; in a few months he would be finished at Hogwarts and who knew when he would see Spinnet again if he didn't patch things up with her now?

Outside a violent storm was looming – in the distance Oliver could hear the formidable rumble of thunder and gushing wind. At the room's entrance, he caught glimpses of the brewing clouds casting a dark and daunting glow across the school's grounds.

After several more minutes of anxious prowling Oliver checked his watch. She should have arrived by now or perhaps she was determined not to talk to him and avoid him at all cost…

Oliver slumped down on a bench and stared gloomily around the red and gold change rooms.

"I can't believe how stupid I've been," he murmured aloud.

"I can."

Oliver nearly had a heart attack and he clutched his chest in alarm while he searched for the source of the voice. Standing in the doorway, her hair blowing around her, was Spinnet. Her arms were crossed defiantly around her and she wore an expression that plainly told Oliver that she would rather be in detention with Snape than here with him.

"Spinnet! You shocked me…"

"Obviously," she said testily.

Oliver stood up slowly from his position on the bench and ruffled his hair. She had come and just the sight of her here, made him feel inexplicably joyful. Finally, he had a chance to take in her glistening hazel eyes, her rosy cheeks and matching lips, her lightly freckled nose…

"So?"

Oliver blinked.

He had been goggling at Spinnet blankly and she was glaring back at him impatiently.

"What?" he replied.

"Well, you told me we were having a strategy session." She observed her surroundings in more detail and added, "Where's everyone else?"

"Oh," Oliver rubbed the back of his neck and found himself avoiding looking directly into Spinnet's eyes. A heat began to creep up his neck. "About that…yeah, um, there isn't one."

Spinnet studied him impassively and then a suspicious scowl crept across her face, "What'd you mean?"

"I…well…I lied. I wanted to talk to you. Alone."

Finally, Oliver looked into her eyes and his warm brown ones met a pool of hazel lava –narrowed into slits.

"ARGH! This is getting ridiculous Oliver! You cannot keep doing this! Can't you see I don't want to talk to you ever again?"

"Wait! You've got to hear me out!" Oliver shouted back as she made to leave the change rooms. "I can't keep going on like this. You've got to let me explain everything."

"I don't want to hear it. I can't stand being around you anymore!"

Her words cut like a cool steel knife to Oliver's heart and the anger that rang through them felt as if the knife was twisting deeper into his being with each syllable. The pain on Oliver's face must have showed as regret passed across Spinnet's face.

"But," Oliver said – his voice barely above a whisper. "What about…Quidditch and – "

At this, Spinnet balled her fists contorted her face in frustration, roaring, "Quidditch! That's all you care about, isn't it? That's all that matters to you!" A streak of lightning and a clap of thunder sounded outside and rain began to fall like heavy pellets against the roof of the Gryffindor change rooms. "All you have ever wanted is to win the Quidditch Final since you became Captain! You only have eyes for that stupid Cup – you were like this when Harry got hurt. Why should I expect anything different now? The only reason you want to fix things between us is because you want a good Quidditch team. One that'll get along so you can win!"

"NO!" Oliver bellowed – his chest was heaving in indignation. Hearing Spinnet's accusations stung him, probably because some of them were true. "I don't want any of those things…at least, not anymore."

Spinnet inhaled a steadying breath to look into his eyes – attempting to determine if he was really being honest.

"Really?" she questioned.

"Yes," Oliver exclaimed, taking a brave step towards Spinnet. "Don't you understand? Can't you see?"

"See what?" Spinnet said in a small voice.

"I did want all of those things at the beginning of the school year, but…things have changed. I can't concentrate anymore, especially when you won't talk to me. I barely got through my NEWTs and even Quidditch is a struggle to focus on now. To be honest, I don't think I have even got a strategy for the final against Slytherin and this is _me_!"

Oliver paused to take a breath. He couldn't believe all of the thoughts and emotions that were gushing out of him – but it felt incredible to wear his heart on his sleeve and tell Spinnet all that she needed to hear. As he continued to speak, he moved closer towards her; gaining courage with each step.

"I can't think of anyone else. I can't help smiling whenever I see you, even if it's just a glimpse in the corridors."

"Oliver…" Spinnet whispered.

"No, let me finish. I need to say this. I don't care about Quidditch anymore. What happened with Laura was nothing – it meant absolutely nothing because I only have eyes for one person. All I care about is you."

Spinnet gaped at Oliver in amazement. Her hazel eyes became alight with joy, reflecting the wide grin that spread across her face.

"You really mean that?" she said softly.

"Of course, Alicia," Oliver replied with a growing smile. And then he realised that he had never used Spinnet's first name before. As captain he had always preferred last names with his teammates…but Alicia was more than just a teammate…Alicia seemed to have notice this, and beamed. By mustering all his courage, Oliver took the final step towards Spinnet and closed the gap between them.

Oliver looked down at Spinnet, who looked more radiant than ever, and leant towards her – hazel eyes locked on brown...

"Ok, let's get down to some strategising!"

The Weasley twins had just appeared in the doorway, looking around expectantly but froze when they caught Oliver and Spinnet who were in close proximity for a captain and teammate. The couple looked at their disturbers embarrassingly and shuffled away from each other.

He felt as though he had been plunged back into cold, hard reality upon the Weasleys' entrance. Abruptly, he became aware of the storm now raging violently outside and the chilling wind howling outside.

Worst of all, was the twins' supremely smug expressions. Oliver would have liked nothing more than to hit both the twins with their Beater's bats.

"Oh," Fred said, coming to a realisation of what they had just interrupted. "We, er, didn't know that this was a _private _strategy meeting."

"Alicia told us there was a team gathering this afternoon."

"Oh, yeah," Alicia murmured. "Sorry," she glanced at Oliver, "I forgot about telling the others…" she trailed off shyly and blushed deeply. If anything, Oliver thought she looked even more pretty and would have liked very much to seize her up into his arms if he didn't have an audience.

"Though if this is the new strategy," George gestured between the two of them. "I'm not sure I really want to snog Wood. I mean, I'm all for team spirit…but that's taking it a bit too far for my liking."

Oliver shook with rage but before he could say anything in reply, Fred cut in.

"Well, here comes the rest of the team," he said gleefully – clearly enjoying the turmoil he was putting Oliver and Alicia through.

And true to his word, the remaining three members of the Gryffindor Quidditch entered the change room chatting amongst themselves – oblivious to what could have potentially unfolded between Oliver and Alicia.

Oliver sighed inwardly and glanced at Alicia, shrugging hopelessly. Well, if everyone was here, Oliver thought, it was probably best that they did do some strategising – though Oliver suspected that he would be distracted throughout the session by a sparkling pair of hazel eyes.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed this...though I suspect that some of you might be a little frustrated ;)**

**I probably won't be able to update in a while because my Beta's on holidays. But, by the time she's gotten back I'm sure I'll have finished the story and will update quickly. :)**

**Thanks to all my reviewers and followers :D **

**Please tell me what you thought my dears xx **


	10. Chapter 10: The Lead Up

**The Lead Up**

Thankfully, Oliver could claim that his new, giddy smile that he wore over the next few weeks was due to the relief of NEWTs being over. The turn of events between Alicia and himself had made him ecstatic. However, he hadn't been able to see her privately since the evening in the change rooms due to her being busy with her OWLs. They were able to manage snatches of conversation, but it was always in the presence of others and so there was no chance of privacy.

Indeed, despite having completed his NEWTs, Oliver also found himself pressed for time. There were only three weeks until the Quidditch Final against Slytherin and one of them would be over the Easter holidays, so Oliver had urged the members of his team to remain behind for training. Oliver was spending every waking moment engrossed in his training regime and tactics. It was a pleasant change for him when the rest of the team shared his enthusiasm and vigour in the upcoming match. Finally, it seemed as though they had a chance to win – what with no opened secret chamber unleashing a mythical beast or an unconscious Seeker (though Oliver kept a cautious eye on Potter in the match's lead up, especially with an escaped convict reportedly nearby).

Team practices were scheduled for almost every night and it was not unusual for Oliver to be so consumed in his thoughts about Quidditch that when he stirred himself out of his reverie he would find himself in an unknown part of the castle with no memory of how he had arrived there.

Seventh years, who remained for another term to complete advanced classes, also had another important occasion: career meetings with their Heads of House, where they would discover the result of their NEWTs.

Tensions were renewed as the career meetings dawned upon Oliver's peers – a note of panic was evident among some students who were wondering if they should have studied more for the exams. However, Oliver felt decidedly calm. For him to be eligible for Puddlemere United try-outs, he needed at least three NEWTs.

So, when he pushed open Professor McGonagall's office door on the Monday before the Quidditch match, he felt confident he could scrape his desired marks. McGonagall's face was unreadable when he caught her eye as she sat perched in a rigid chair behind her desk; her lips pursed in a thin line, her thin eyebrows contracted and her grey hair in its usual tight knot. Her office was simple and neat – there were a stack of papers organised upon her desk, a tartan tin to Oliver's right, an array of quills lay to the side and in the middle of the desk was an envelope with Oliver's name inscribed in emerald green ink.

While he made his way towards the chair, McGonagall began curtly, "Well, first Mr Wood. Let me congratulate you on completing all your exams."

Oliver nodded.

He hadn't spoken privately with McGonagall since their argument over the Firebolt and she appeared to have chosen to ignore this last encounter.

"This meeting is for us to ensure that you can pursue your desired career after you leave Hogwarts – given that you have achieved the necessary prerequisites. Now, I assume that since we last discussed your career goals they have remained the same. You still hope to become a professional Quidditch player?"

"Yes, Professor," Oliver responded eagerly.

"Of course," McGonagall continued, with a slight smile. "As I understand it, you need three NEWTs to be eligible for try outs with any professional team." McGonagall ruffled through some of her papers as she verified this.

"Let's take a look at your results, then," McGonagall said, handing over the envelope to Oliver who quickly opened it and read:

**Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests Results**

_Pass Grades_

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

_Fail Grades_

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

**Oliver Brandon Wood has achieved:**

Astronomy E

Charms A

Defence Against the Dark Arts E

Herbology P

History of Magic D

Potions A

Transfiguration P

Oliver let out a sigh of relief, which he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Four NEWTs, he thought slowly…four NEWTs…he'd done it…he could go professional! Suddenly, his imagination went into overdrive as he pictured himself playing Keeper for Puddlemere United…winning the League Cup…trying out for England…soaring the stands at the Quidditch World Cup…

He looked up at Professor McGonagall who met his beam with a proud smile.

"Congratulations, Oliver."

She reached into a draw and pulled out a brochure from the National Quidditch Association.

"It has all the necessary information in there for you," she said as Oliver took it and stared at it as though it was solid gold.

Just as Oliver began to rise from his seat to leave, McGonagall added, "Oh, Mr Wood. I know it's not necessary for your tryouts but winning the Quidditch Cup would not go amiss." And then, Professor McGonagall did something unimaginable – she winked.

"Don't worry, Professor," Oliver laughed. "Slytherin don't stand a chance."

xxx

In the first week back from Easter holiday, Oliver increased the number of training sessions and scheduled tactic time with his Chasers, Beaters and Seeker. Also heightening simultaneously was Oliver's anxiety and vigour. Indeed, he was becoming especially worried by the fact that Slytherin were leading the tournament by two hundred points, meaning that his team needed more than that amount to win the Cup. Thus, he felt obliged to inform his teammates of this at least five times per training session.

"So you must _only _catch the Snitch if we're _more _than fifty points up. Only if we're more than fifty points up, Potter, or we win the match but lose the Cup. You've got that, haven't you? You must only catch the Snitch if we're –"

"I KNOW, WOOD!" Potter yelled.

It seemed to Oliver that this match would prove to himself whether or not he would be able to make it professionally. Never before had he experienced so much pressure before a Quidditch match. The fact that his mother had been displeased with some of his NEWTs results, meant that he needed to demonstrate his skills and determination with his chosen career path.

Gryffindor House shared the obsession with the approaching match. Gryffindor hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley had been Seeker. In fact, the entire school cohort was a highly charged atmosphere after the break. Enmity between the two teams and their Houses were at breaking point. Small scuffles had broke out in the corridors, including a nasty incident where a Gryffindor fourth-year and a Slytherin sixth-year ended up in the hospital wing with leeks sprouting out of their ears.

Potter, in particular, was a major target for the Slytherins and so Oliver had instructed Gryffindor House to accompany him everywhere to protect this essential player. Oliver was glad at the enthusiastic response he received for the rest of the team, including himself, found themselves constantly surrounded by a crowd as they travelled between classes – a cluster of security. However, whenever Oliver found the time, he took it upon himself to walk a certain Chaser safely to her classes.

xxx

All usual pursuits were abandoned in the Gryffindor common room the night before the match.

The room was a clamour of noise and discord. Oliver had elected to disengage himself from the crowd and retreat into a corner with one eye on his Quidditch pitch model – poking little figures with his wand to perform plays – and another eye on his teammates. The Weasleys were hoping to relieve their stress by being louder and more exuberant than ever. Alicia, Johnson and Bell watched the twins nearby, laughing at their jokes while Potter sat away with his two friends, the fire light casting an eerie look upon his pale complexion.

Finally, at a quarter to ten, when Oliver's head was reeling with memorised strategies and fit to burst with every Quidditch move ever invented and a stomach churning uncomfortably – he stood up and yelled, "Team! Bed!"

xxx

Oliver did anything but sleep that night. His nerves were too ferocious to calm and so he tossed around in his four-poster bed catching only snippets of sleep. By the time the sun broke over the imposing trees of the Forbidden Forest, Oliver lay wide awake in bed and hoped that the rest of the team had slept better than him.

A few hours later, after revisiting his Quidditch playbook and model, Oliver emerged from behind his maroon hangings and got dressed with shaking hands. Now that the match had finally arrived, its enormity and importance had been magnified. It was his last chance to win the Cup…prove he could play professional Quidditch…break Gryffindor's losing streak…defeat Slytherin…and, as he sadly remembered, it was his final game with his teammates, including Alicia.

As he left the boy's dormitory for breakfast, he found the rest of his Quidditch team waiting for him downstairs. They were deathly pale as though they were trapped in some horrifying nightmare and at Oliver's arrival they looked up at him.

There was something in their eyes – a sort of desperate desire to be comforted and asserted; and when Oliver saw this, he swallowed his fear and remembered the skill and determination of his team. Then, he gave them a single nod which Oliver hoped conveyed his pride and confidence in all of them. Without speaking, they left the common room together – Oliver in the lead – with a single purpose in mind: to win.

Upon entering the Great Hall, Oliver and his team were met with an enthusiastic applause. Oliver's heart lightened slightly and a small grin flittered across his face. Better still, as they passed the Slytherin table Oliver was glad to see that their team appeared anxious – especially their pointed-face Seeker, Draco Malfoy.

Sitting down at the Gryffindor table, Oliver urged all of his teammates to eat a good breakfast but he couldn't bring himself to eat – afraid that it would come up before it reached his stomach.

Once Oliver thought that his team had managed to eat all that was possible for their jittering stomach they left for the pitch, to survey the conditions.

"OK…no wind to speak of…sun's a bit bright, that could impair out vision, watch out for it…ground's fairly hard, good, that'll give us a fast kick-off…" he informed his team, who were unusually silent.

Retreating back into the change room, when they saw the rest of the school spill out onto the castle grounds, Oliver ordered everyone to get changed into their scarlet robes.

The sound of students filling up the stands and their booming cheers, echoed dully inside Oliver's head as his heart raced. A few times, he opened his mouth to attempt to give his team a speech but closed it quickly when nothing came out. Eventually, he sunk down on a bench next to Alicia, who squeezed his hand as he glanced apprehensively at his watch.

Finally, he said, "OK, it's time, let's go…"

They walked out onto to the pitch to an explosion of noise – a mixture of roars and boos. The stands were mostly a riot of scarlet rosettes waving banners, scarves and flags wildly above their heads, while behind the Slytherin goalposts the rest of the crowd were a sea of green with silver serpent flags.

Lee Jordan, the commentator's voice, rang loudly throughout the pitch as he yelled, "And here are the Gryffindors! Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best side Hogwarts has seen in a good few years – "

But Lee's remark was drowned out by jeers from the Slytherins.

"And here come the Slytherin team, lead by captain Flint. He's made some changes in the line-up and seems to be going for size rather than skill –"

Again the Slytherin crowd protested loudly. Oliver was fully aware of Flint's strategy and could have snorted out loud with how pathetic it was. Once the teams were lined up and facing each other, Madam Hooch ordered, "Captains, shake hands!"

Oliver grasped Flint's hand with all his strength as he glared into Flint's malicious eyes. He hoped he had crushed a few bones.

"Mount your brooms!" said Madam Hooch.

Oliver's heart was beating uncontrollably inside his chest, his throat…

"Three…"

He lifted one foot over his broom and gripped the smooth, wooden handle tightly…

"…two…"

Oliver took a deep breath…

"…one…"

This was it…

Madam Hooch's whistle sounded and reverberated inside Oliver as he kicked hard off the ground. His spirit soared at the sensation and in the briefest of moments he saw the silver Cup in his hands; a vision of victory.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter and, wow, double digits! Sorry, this took a bit to be written and published but I've had a cold so I wasn't feeling too creative. Hopefully the next one should be up sometime this week :D So don't worry, the match will be up soon as well as after the match... ;)**

**Thanks to everyone for reading this story, don't forget to review pretty please!**

**Now, I must be off to see The Hobbit hehehe**

**xx**


	11. Chapter 11: The Match

So this is it! The final chapter! Wow.

It has been so much fun writing my first fanfic and I really, really hope you enjoy the conclusion!

A special thanks to my Beta, HermioneLunaPotter, for introducing me to fanfic, encouraging me to write fanfic and for editing this story! Thanks so much lovely! You are the best! xx

And also, thank you for those who have stuck with this story, reviewed, favourited and followed! It means a lot to me and I couldn't have done it without your encouragement!

Btw - if you're interested I will probably be writing another HP fanfic this year. Perhaps a Ginny and Harry one - as they are my favourite ship - right after the war. So, keep a look out!

Anyway, please let me know what your thoughts are and review!

xx

* * *

**The Match**

It was fierce.

As his broom and the energy of the crowd spurned Oliver towards his goalposts, Oliver was forced to skilfully dodge two bludgers hit by the burly Slytherin Beaters. It seemed that Flint was eager to have him out of the match. So, Oliver put on an extra burst of speed, flattening himself against his broom's handle and turned sharply once he was in front of the goal posts so he could observe the match's situation.

Gryffindor were in possession – Alicia had the Quaffle and she was soaring towards the goalposts. Oliver's heart leapt…this would have to be the quickest goal in Hogwarts! Two of the Slytherin Chasers were far behind her, leaving her unrivalled. Yet, as Alicia threw the Quaffle towards an unguarded hoop, Warrington rose up from below and intercepted the ball.

Oliver cursed and gripped his broom tighter – his eyes locked menacingly on Warrington who was tearing up the pitch. Oliver moved out slightly from his position and hovered on his broom, ready to block Warrington's aim. But there was no need, a Bludger sent by one of the twins hit Warrington on his left and he spiralled out of control, dropping the Quaffle.

Johnson was a blur as she caught the dropped Quaffle and raced towards the goals, swerving a fumbling Montague who was no match against her flying skills. The distance was closing between her and the goals and as she threw the Quaffle, the Keeper lunged in the opposite direction…

"SHE SCORES! TEN – ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!" Lee bellowed over the delighted screams of the Gryffindor supporters. Oliver couldn't resist punching his fist in the air in celebration and listening briefly to the commentary, which he normally blocked out to concentrate on the game.

But Oliver's joy was cut short when he saw a green blur, the size of Marcus Flint, smash into Johnson; nearly throwing her off her broom. Oliver began yelling and swearing at the top of his voice and his eyes sought out Madam Hooch; surely she had witnessed the foul – that was a penalty to Gryffindor. And from the shouts below, most of the crowd agreed.

"Sorry!" said Flint. "Sorry, didn't see her!"

Before Oliver could fly over to Flint and punch him, Fred Weasley threw his Beater's club at the back of Flint's head, causing his nose to smash into the handle of his broom and begin to bleed profusely.

Oliver let out a satisfied laugh, until Madam Hooch zoomed between them and shouted, "Penalty to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty to Slytherin for deliberate damage to _their _Chaser!"

"What!" screamed Oliver, though he doubted anyone could here him from the other side of the pitch and over the indignant protests of Fred Weasley.

But there was no point arguing with Madam Hooch as Alicia flew up to take the penalty against the opposing Keeper.

"Come on, Alicia," Oliver murmured under his breath as she flew forward…aimed…and scored!

"Yes!" Oliver shouted, losing himself in the excitement of the Quidditch Final. They were twenty points up from Slytherin and there was no way Oliver was going to let them reduce Gryffindor's lead.

Flint, his nose still gushing blood, flew towards the Slytherin end of the pitch to take his team's penalty. Oliver clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes as he faced off his oldest Quidditch nemesis. He hoped his thoughts were conveyed clearly on his face to Flint: there was no way the Quaffle was getting past him, Flint was not going to score – not after what he'd done to Johnson.

In a flash, Flint threw the Quaffle and everything slowed down as Oliver focused on the red ball. In his mind, he foresaw it travelling to the left and so, taking both hands off his broom, he lunged at the Quaffle; pulling it towards his chest. As he caught it, he somersaulted in mid-air, his legs clinging to his broom until Oliver managed to grasp the handle with one arm and steady himself. He'd done it! Slytherin hadn't scored. While the crowd cheered vibrantly below, Oliver gave Flint a smug smile before throwing the Quaffle to an unmarked Bell.

Bell hadn't gotten far when she lost the Quaffle to Warrington, but then Alicia knocked into him, causing him to drop the ball, which was caught again by Bell – now a scarlet blur heading towards the goal posts. Yet, just as this game was proving to be the most intense match ever played at Hogwarts, it was also gaining a reputation as the dirtiest; for Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Bell and instead of seizing the Quaffle, grabbed her head.

Oliver experienced a horrifying sensation as he saw Bell cartwheel in the air. Thankfully, she managed to keep hold of her broom but the Quaffle plummeted to the ground.

Before Oliver could protest, Madam Hooch's whistle rang in the air and she began scolding Montague. Much to Oliver's satisfaction, Bell took the penalty and scored another goal for Gryffindor.

Oliver prepared himself for the next play when he noticed Potter streaking towards his side of the pitch, Malfoy close behind him. Oliver slipped on his broom handle in shock, causing him to descend a few feet…surely Potter remembered that they could only win the Cup if they were more than fifty points up? What was he doing? And with another overwhelming sensation of horror, Oliver saw the Slytherin Beaters – Derrick and Bole – flying towards Potter on either side, their clubs raised. But, at the last minute, Potter turned his Firebolt upwards so that the two Beaters collided painfully.

A smirk spread across Oliver's features at this sight. Meanwhile, Oliver had taken his eyes off the game and caught a fleeting glimpse of Flint flying towards him. His blood turned to ice as he prepared himself for Flint's move, but he was too late – his fingers grazed the ball before it flew into the middle hoop.

Now, the Slytherins had an opportunity to cheer while Oliver reproached himself for losing his attention. It was such an amateur mistake…how could he be so careless? Because of him, the score was thirty – ten.

It seemed that Oliver was not the only one whose frustration was mounting as Slytherin were resorting to new lows.

In the next few minutes, Alicia was hit with a club by Bole; claiming that he thought her head was a Bludger. At that moment, Oliver wanted nothing more than to have his own Beater's bat and pound Bole's face until _his _looked like a Bludger. The nerve of anyone to say that about Alicia, who was the prettiest girl in Hogwarts to Oliver…

But George, who was closest, was able to retaliate with an elbow to Bole's head. Honestly, Oliver did not mind that Madam Hooch awarded both teams penalties and rather thought that George Weasley had been playing spectacularly all match.

Fortunately, Alicia appeared fine as Johnson took the penalty and scored another ten points for Gryffindor. Oliver also managed to block a feeble shot from Montague when Slytherin took their turn. The score was forty – ten, which meant only three more goals to get, if Oliver could prevent Slytherin from scoring.

The Gryffindor Chasers seemed to be motivated by this fact, and they performed a flawless Hawks Head Attacking Formation, allowing Bell to get the Quaffle through the Gryffindor goals again.

Oliver's eyes darted around to each of his teammates, ensuring that the Slytherins weren't going to retaliate against his players. He was pleased to see that the Weasleys were flying next to Potter with their clubs raised threateningly. However, while he was looking out for the rest of his team he forgot about himself.

BAM!

Two Bludgers, one after the other, hit Oliver squarely in the stomach. He was completely winded and just managed to hold onto his broom as he rolled over; coughing and spluttering. He heard the crowd scream in fear, but Alicia's shriek was the clearest to him. Eventually, he turned the right way up despite the bruises he felt forming.

Vaguely, he heard Madam Hooch screech at Bole and Derrick, and award a Gryffindor penalty. He held up a hand to indicate that he was all right to his team. It was going to take Slytherin a lot more to prevent Oliver from playing in a Quidditch Final and his determination rose as he saw Johnson successfully take another ten points. One more to go…

The opportunity for Potter to make for the Snitch came moments later as Warrington – in possession of the Quaffle – had it knocked out of his hands by a Bludger from Fred Weasley. Alicia seized the Quaffle before it reached the ground and to Oliver's amazement, dodged the other two Slytherin Chasers and a Bludger with expert skill, before putting the Quaffle through the goal. Oliver's heart was pounding in excitement as he sought out Potter, who appeared to be scanning the pitch for the Golden Snitch – the tiny ball that could win the Cup for Gryffindor.

Suddenly, Potter took off on his Firebolt so quickly that Oliver struggled to relocate him – as he kept one eye on the Quaffle – and found him again soaring upwards; his hand outreached…

But for some reason, Potter started slowing down and Oliver could just make out Malfoy holding and pulling down Potter's tail and with Potter distracted by the Slytherin Seeker; the Snitch had disappeared.

Oliver felt himself turning red as he shook with rage like never before. How dare Malfoy interfere with his Seeker! How dare he touch the Firebolt! How dare he take away the Cup!

The entire Gryffindor team were screaming themselves hoarse and it sounded as though Gryffindors below were doing the same.

"Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I've never seen such tactics!" Madam Hooch howled, shooting up to Malfoy.

"YOU CHEATING SCUM!" Oliver heard Lee Jordan yell. "YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B –"

Oliver finished Lee's sentence for him and he began to make towards Malfoy, but then realised that Alicia was preparing to take the penalty shot. Even from the opposite end of the pitch Oliver could see her shuddering with fury and was not surprised that she missed her target by several feet.

Oliver sensed his team was losing concentration and he glanced nervously at Potter. They needed the Snitch.

Slytherin seemed to be taking advantage of this, as Flint was already halfway up the pitch; unchallenged by any Chasers or Beaters. Oliver prepared himself, but just as Flint began to throw the ball he feigned aiming right and dropped the Quaffle to Montague who was able to score. Oliver cursed heavily.

When play started again, Oliver saw that his team was in trouble again. Johnson was roaring up the pitch with the Quaffle but every single Slytherin player – including the Keeper – were heading towards her; like a solid emerald wall. Oliver gripped his broom in suspense but then saw Potter appear from nowhere – flat on his broom – making a beeline for Slytherins, who upon catching sight of Potter broke formation; leaving an opening for Johnson to…SCORE! Gryffindor were up again. All they needed was the Snitch.

Yet, to Oliver's horror he saw that Malfoy was speeding towards the ground, a triumphant grin spreading across his pointed face…and Potter was on the other side of the pitch…

All the players froze in the air as they watched Malfoy dive and Potter fly towards the tiny glimmer of gold near the Slytherin Seeker. Somehow, Potter was catching up and Oliver couldn't help but admire the Firebolt's superb speed. Just as Malfoy stretched his arm out, Potter had reached Malfoy. They were neck and neck for the Snitch, but Malfoy fumbled clumsily allowing Potter to throw himself forward and grapple for the Snitch. As the two pulled out of the dive, it was unclear who had been successful but then Potter raised his hand above the air, the Snitch glittering between his fingers. He'd caught the Snitch.

Gryffindor had won.

Oliver was still and silent for the briefest moment, trying to comprehend what had just happened...

"YES!" he bellowed, streaking towards Potter and beginning to feel tears stream down his face. "WE WON!"

Oliver slammed into Potter and seized him around the neck; sobbing unrestrainedly into his Seeker's shoulder. Then Oliver felt the Weasleys knock into them, as well as Alicia, Johnson and Bell screaming, "We've won the Cup! We've won the Cup!"

Oliver felt numb as their odd huddle eventually landed on the ground, where a stream of crimson clad supporters raced towards them. The team was surrounded by shouts of triumph, chanting and cries of celebration. People were thumping him on the back, Alfie and Russel ruffled his hair, Diggory came to offer congratulations for finally beating Slytherin, Professor McGonagall – who was weeping more than himself – shook his hand; yet, funniest of all was Percy, who took a short break from jumping around madly to shake Oliver's arm so enthusiastically that Oliver was afraid it would fall off.

Oliver found himself torn between laughing, crying and shouting along with everyone else, but froze in his festivities when he saw Alicia out of the corner of his eye.

They stared at each other, a few feet away, while red and gold flags soared around them and students cast multi-coloured sparks from their wands. By just looking into each other's eyes, they did not need to express their joy and euphoria exploding in their hearts like fireworks. Oliver thought she was radiant with windswept, sandy hair and a wide grin on her flushed face.

"I never told you why Diggory broke up with me," Alicia shouted over the noise.

Oliver's face fell and his joy began to deplete like air issuing from a burst balloon. Really, he thought, she wanted to talk about Diggory now?

"It was because he knew –" Alicia paused and blushed before continuing, " – he knew that I was in love with someone else."

Those words were all that Oliver needed to have his beaming smile return in full measure. Then, with perfect ease, he closed the gap between Alicia and himself and captured Alicia's lips with his own. His arms snaked around her waist as he lifted Alicia off the ground. He felt Alicia kiss him back enthusiastically while her hands knotted themselves through his hair. Oliver felt his happiness mount to heights he did not know were possible, even after winning the Quidditch Cup, and it was with great reluctance that he pulled away from Alicia, whose hazel eyes glittered with delight.

"How does it feel to win?" Alicia whispered, while they still held onto each other.

"The Cup?" he asked.

Alicia nodded.

"It's nothing compared to you."

Alicia smiled exuberantly before meeting Oliver's lips in a passionate embrace.

After they broke apart again, Oliver and Alicia were shocked to find themselves drawn away from each other as the crowd lifted them up. But then Oliver realised that they were being carried towards Dumbledore who was holding the shinning Quidditch Cup.

Finally, it was his, it was his team's and it was Gryffindor's.

As the crowd dropped Oliver back onto the ground he looked up at Dumbledore who was smiling proudly and shook his hand; handing Oliver the Cup.

The Cup's silver handles were cool beneath his fingers and Oliver felt as though triumph lay inside it – entering Oliver's body like an electric shock.

Oliver held the Cup high above his head as the crowd went wild and screamed all the more loudly and joyously at the sight of victory.

Yet, as Oliver roared along with everyone's cries of glee, something else occurred to him. This was the most important thing he had ever done in his life but it was not the most important thing to him.

At this thought, Oliver handed the Cup to his Seeker, where the Weasley twins raised him up onto their shoulders, much to the crowd's delight.

Meanwhile, Oliver turned around; looking for Alicia who would surely be nearby. Instead, he felt the wind get knocked out of him and a streak of sandy hair covered his face. Oliver hugged Alicia as she pulled back to see his face, still holding on around his neck.

"I like Quidditch," Oliver yelled, trying to make himself heard over the crowd. "But it's not what I love, Alicia."

And then Oliver kissed her and his heart had never felt lighter and he'd never known true bliss like this.


End file.
